A Thousand Miles up the Nile

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AMELIA BLANDFORD EDWARDS.

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A THOUSAND MILES
UP THE NILE.

By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

Author of "Untrodden Peaks and Unfrequented Valleys," "Lord Bracken-
bury," "Barbara's History," etc.

' It flows through old hush'd Egypt and its sands,
Like some grave, mighty thought, threading a dream."

—Leigh Hunt.

ILLUSTRATED.

(

nm v *

NEW YORK:

A. L. BUET, PUBLISHER.

-Ml

PREFACE

TO THE FIRST EDITION".

" Un voyage en Egypte, c'est une partie d'anes et une promenade en
bateau entrenielees de mines. " — Ampere.

Ampere has put Egypt in aii epigram. " A donkey ride
and a boating trip interspersed with ruins" does, in fact,
sum np in a single line the whole experience of the Nile
traveler. Apropos of these three things — the donkeys,
the boat, and the ruins — it may be said that a good English
saddle and a comfortable dahabeeyah add very considerably
to the pleasure of the journey; and that the more one
knows* about the past history of the country, the more one
enjoys the ruins.

Of the comparative merits of wooden boats, iron boats,
and steamers, I am not qualified to speak. We, however,
saw one iron dahabeeyah aground upon a sand-bank, where,
as we afterward learned, it remained for three weeks. We
also saw the wrecks of three steamers between Cairo and
the first cataract. It certainly seemed to us that the old-
fashioned wooden dahabeeyah — flat-bottomed, drawing
little water, light in hand, and easily poled off when stuck
— was the one vessel best constructed for the navigation of
the Nile. Other considerations, as time and cost, are, of
course, involved in this question. The choice between
dahabeeyah and steamer is like the choice between
trailing with post-horses and traveling by rail. The one

-as*1

/ ±/7o

lv PREFACE.

is expensive, leisurely, delightful; the other is cheap, swift,
and comparatively comfortless. Those who are content to
snatch but a glimpse of the Nile will doubtless prefer the
steamer. I may add that the whole cost of the Phila? —
food, dragoman's wages, boat-hire, cataract, everything
included, except wine — was about £10 per day.

With regard to temperature, we found it cool — even
cold, sometimes — in December and January; mild in Feb-
ruary; very warm in March and April. The climate of
Nubia is simply perfect. It never rains; and once past
the limit of the tropic there is no morning or evening chill
upon the air. Yet even in Nubia, and especially along the
forty miles which divide Abou Simbel from Wady Halfeh,
it is cold when the wind blows strongly from the north.*

Touching the title of this book, it may be objected that
the distance from the port of Alexandria to the second
cataract falls short of a thousand miles. It is, in fact,
calculated at nine hundred and sixty four and a half miles.
But from the Eock of Abusir, five miles above Wady Hal-
feh, the traveler looks over an extent of country far exceed-
ing the thirty or thirty-five miles necessary to make up the
full tale of a thousand. We distinctly saw from this point
the summits of mountains which lie about one hundred
and forty-five miles to the southward of Wady Halfeh,
and which look down upon the third cataract.

Perhaps I ought to say something in answer to the
repeated inquiries of those who looked for the publication
of this volume a year ago. I can, however, only reply that
the writer, instead of giving one year, has given two years to
the work. To write rapidly about Egypt is impossible. The

* For the benefit of any who desire more exact information, I may
add that a table of average temperatures, carefully registered day by
day and week by week, is to be found at the end of Mr. H. Villiers
Stuart's " Nile Gleanings." [Note to second edition.]

PREFACE. V

subject grows with the book, and with the knowledge one
acquires by the way. It is, moreover, a subject beset with
such obstacles as must impede even the swiftest pen; and
to that swiftest pen I lay no claim. Moreover, the writer
who seeks to be accurate, has frequently to go for his facts,
if not actually to original sources (which would be the
texts themselves), at all events to translations and com-
mentaries locked up in costly folios, or dispersed far and
wide among the pages of scientific journals and the trans-
actions of learned societies. A date, a name, a passing
reference, may cost hours of seeking.

More pleasant is it to remember labor lightened than to
consider time spent; and I have yet to thank the friends
who have spared no pains to help this book on its way.
To S. Birch, Esq., LL.D., etc., so justly styled "the
parent in this country of a sound school of Egyptian
philology/' who, besides translating the hieratic and hier-
oglyphic inscriptions contained in chapter eighteen, has
also, with infinite kindness, seen the whole of that chapter
through the press; to Reginald Stuart Poole, Esq.; to
Professor R. Owen, C. B., etc.; to Sir G. W. Cox, I desire
to offer my hearty and grateful acknowledgments. It is
surely not least among the glories of learning that those
who adorn it most and work hardest should ever be read-
iest to share the stores of their knowledge,

Of the fascination of Egyptian travel, of the charm of
the Nile, of the unexpected and surpassing beauty of the
desert, of the ruins which are the wonder of the world, I
have said enough elsewhere. I must, however, add that
I brought home with me an impression that things and
people are much less changed in Egypt than we of the
present day are wont to suppose. I believe that the
physique and life of the modern fellah is almost identical
with the physique and life of that ancient Egyptian laborer

vi PREFACE.

whom we know so well in the wall paintings of the tombs.
Square in the shoulders, slight but strong in the limbs,
full-lipped, brown-skinned, we see him wearing the same
loin-cloth, plying the same shaduf, plowing with the same
plow, preparing the same food in the same way, and eat-
ing it with his fingers from the same bowl, as did his fore
fathers of six thousand years ago.

The household life and social ways of even the provincial
gentry are little changed. Water is poured on one's hands
before going to dinner from just such a ewer and into just
such a basin as we see pictured in the festival scenes at
Thebes. Though the lotus-blossom is missing, a bouquet
is still given to each guest when he takes his place at table.
The head of the sheep killed for the banquet is still given
to the poor. Those who are helped to meat or drink touch
the head and breast in acknowledgment, as of old. The
musicians still sit at the lower end of the hall, the singers
yet clap their hands in time to their own voices; the danc-
ing-girls still dance and the buffoon in his high cap still per-
forms his uncouth antics, for the entertainment of the
guests. Water is brought to table in jars of the same shape
manufactured at the same town, as in the days of Cheops
and Chephren; and the mouths of the bottles are filled in
precisely the same way with fresh leaves and flowers. The
cucumber stuffed with minced-meat was a favorite dish in
those times of old; and I can testify to its excellence in
1874. Little boys in Nubia yet wear the side-lock that
graced the head of Rameses in his youth; and little girls
may be seen in a garment closely resembling the girdle
worn by young princesses of the time of Thothmes I. A
sheik still walks with a long staff; a Nubian belle still
plaits her tresses in scores of little tails; and the pleasure-
boat of the modern governor or mudir, as well as the daha-
beeyah hired by the European traveler, reproduces in all

PREFACE. vii

essential features the painted galleys represented in the
tombs of the kings.

In these and in a hundred other instances, all of which
came under my personal observation and have their place
in the following pages, it seemed to me that any obscurity
which yet hangs over the problem of life and thought in
ancient Egypt originates most probably with ourselves.
Our own habits of life and thought are so complex that
they shut us off from the simplicity of that early world.
So it was with the problem of hieroglyphic writing. The
thing was so obvious that no one could find it out. As long
as the world persisted in believing that every hieroglyph
was an abstruse symbol, and every hieroglyphic inscription
a profound philosophical rebus, the mystery of Egyptian
literature remained insoluble. Then at last came Cham-
pollion's famous letter to Dacier, showing that the hiero-
glyphic signs were mainly alphabetic and syllabic, and that
the language they spelled was only Coptic, after all.

li<- there were not thousands who still conceive that the
sun and moon were created and' are kept going for no
other purpose than to lighten the darkness of our little
planet; if only the other day a grave gentleman had not
written a perfectly serious essay to show that the world is a
flat plain, one would scarcely believe that there could
still be people who doubt that ancient Egyptian is now read
and translated as fluently as ancient Greek. Yet an English-
man whom I met in Egypt — an Englishman who had long
been resident in Cairo, and who was well acquainted with the
great Egyptologists who are attached to the service of the
khedive — assured me of his profound disbelief in the dis-
covery of Champollion. "In my opinion," said he, "not
one of these gentlemen can read a line of hieroglyphics."
^As I then knew nothing of the Egyptian I could say
nothing to controvert this speech. Since that time, how-

viii PREFACE.

ever, and while writing this book, I have been led on step
by step to the study of hieroglyphic writing ; and I now
know that Egyptian c;m be read, for the simple reason
that I find myself able to read an Egyptian sentence.

My testimony may not be of much value ; but I give it
for the little that it is worth.

The study of Egyptian literature has advanced of late
years with rapid strides. Papyri are found less frequently
than they were some thirty or forty years ago; but the
translation of those contained in the museums of Europe
goes on now more diligently than at any former time.
Religious books, variants of the ritual, moral essays,
maxims, private letters, hymns, epic poems, historical
chronicles, accounts, deeds of sale, medical, magical and
astronomical treatises, geographical records, travels and
even romances and tales, are brought to light, photo-
graphed, fac-similed in chromo-lithography, printed in
hieroglyphic type and translated in forms suited both to
the learned and to the general reader.

Not all this literature is written, however, on papyrus.
The greater proportion of it is carved in stone. Some is
painted on wood, written on linen, leather, potsherds and
other substances. So the old mystery of Egypt, which
was her literature, has vanished. The key to the hiero-
glyphs is the master-key that opens every door. Each
year that now passes over our heads sees some old problem
solved. Each day brings some long-buried truth to light.
Some thirteen years ago,* a distinguished American
artist painted a very beautiful picture called " The Secret
of the Sphinx." In its widest sense the secret of the sphinx
would mean, I suppose, the whole uninterpreted and un-

* These dates, it is to be reniemberd, refer to the year 1877, when
the first edition of this book was published. [Note to second
edition.]

PREFACE.

\\

discovered past of Egypt. In its narrower sense, the
secret of the sphinx was, till quite lately, the hidden sig-
nificance of the human-headed lion which is one of the
typical subjects of Egyptian art.

Thirteen years is a short time to look back upon ; yet
great things have been done in Egypt and in Egyptology,
since then. Edfu, with its extraordinary wealth of inscrip-
tions, has been laid bare. The whole contents of the
Boulak Museum have been recovered from the darkness of
the tombs. The very mystery of the sphinx has been dis-
closed ; and even within the last eighteen months, M.
Chabas announces that he has discovered the date of the
pyramid of Mycerinus; so for the first time establishing
the chronology of ancient Egypt upon an ascertained
foundation. Thus the work goes on ; students in their
libraries, excavators under Egyptian skies, toiling along
different paths toward a common goal. The picture
means more to-day than it meant thirteen years ago —
means more, even, than the artist intended. The sphinx
has no secret now, save for the ignorant.

In the picture Ave see a brown, half-naked, toil-worn
fellah laying his ear to the stone lips of a colossal sphinx,
buried to the neck in sand. Some instinct of the old
Egyptian blood tells him that the creature is godlike. He
is conscious of a great mystery lying far back in the past.
He has, perhaps, a dim, confused notion that the Big
Head knows it all, whatever it may be. He has never
heard of the morning-song of Memnon; but he fancies,
somehow, that those closed lips might speak if questioned.
Fellah and sphinx are alone together in the desert. It is
night and the stars are shining. Has he chosen the right
hour? What doees he seek to know? AVhat does he hope
to hew ?

Mr. Vedder has permitted me to enrich this book with

x PREFACE.

an engraving from his picture. It tells its own tale; or
rather it tells as much of its own tale as the artist chooses.

Each must interpret for himself
The secret of the sphinx.

AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

Westbury-on-Trym, Gloucestershire, December, 1877.

PREFACE

TO THE SECOND EDITION.

First published in 1877, this book has been out of print
for several years. I have, therefore, very gladly revised it
for a new and cheaper edition. In so revising it, I have
corrected some of the historical notes by the light of later
discoveries; but I have left the narrative untouched. Of
tJie political changes which have come over the laud of
Egypt since that narrative was written, I have taken no
note ; and because I in no sense offer myself as a guide
to others, I say nothing of the altered conditions under
which most Nile travelers now perform the trip. All
these things will be more satisfactorily, and more practi-
cally, learned from the pages of Baedeker and Murray.

AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

Westbuky-on-Trtm, October, 1888.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID.

Page.

Arrival at Cairo — Shepheard's Hotel — The Moskee — The Khan
Khaleel — The Bazaars — Dahabeeyahs — Ghizeh — The Pyra-
mids 1

CHAPTER II.

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE.

The Mosque of Sultan Hassan — Moslems at Prayer — Mosque of
Mehemet Ali — View from the Platform — Departure of the
Caravan for Mecca — The Bab en-Nasr — The Procession —
The Mahinal — Howling Dervishes — The Mosque of Amr —
The Sliubra Road 15

CHAPTER III.

CAIRO TO BEDRESHAYN.

Departure for the Nile Voyage— Farewell to Cairo — Turra —
The Phil* and crew — The Dahabeeyah and the Nile Sailor
— Native Music — Bedreshayn 32

CHAPTER IV.

SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS.

The Palms of Memphis— Three Groups of Pyramids— The M.
B.'s and Their Groom — Relic-hunting — The Pyramid of
Ouenephes — The Serapeum — A Royal Raid— The Tomb of
Ti — The Fallen Colossus — Memphis 43

CHAPTER V.

BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH.

The Rule of the Nile— The Shadiif— Beni Suef— Thieves by
Night — The Chief of the Guards — A Sand-storm — " Holy

xiv CONTENTS.

Page.

Sheik Cotton "—The Convent of the Pulley— A Copt— The
Shadow of the World — Minieh — A Native Market — Prices
of Provisions — The Dom Palm — Fortune-telling — Oph-
thalmia 65

CHAPTER VI.

MINIEH TO SIUT.

Christmas Day — The Party Completed — Christmas Dinner on
the Nile — A Fantasia — Noah's Ark — Birds of Egypt —
Gebel Abuf ayda — Unknown Stelae — Imprisoned — The
Scarab-beetle — Manfalut — Siiit — Red and Black Pottery —
Ancient Tombs — View Over the Plain — Biblical Legend. . 83

CHAPTER VII.

SIUT TO DENDERAn.

An "Experienced Surgeon" — Passing Scenery — Girgeh — Sheik
Selim — Kasr es Syad — Forced Labor — Temple of Den-
derah — Cleopatra — Benighted 99

CHAPTER VIII.

THEBES AND KARNAK.

Luxor — Donkey-boys — Topography of Ancient Thebes — Pylons
of Luxor — Poem of Pentaur — The Solitary Obelisk — In-
terior of the Temple of Luxor — Polite Postmaster — Ride
to Karnak — Great Temple of Karnak — The Hypostyle
Hall— A World of Ruins 121

CHAPTER IX.

THEBES TO ASSUAN.

A Storm on the Nile — Erment — A Gentlemanly Bey — Esneh —
A Buried Temple — A Long Day's Sketching — Salame the
Chivalrous — Remarkable Coin — Antichi — The Fellah — The
Pylons of Edf u — An Exciting Race — The Philae Wins by a
Length 140

CHAPTER X.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE.

Assuan — Strange Wares for Sale — Madame Nubia — Castor Oil
The Black Governor — An Enormous Blunder— Tannhauser
in Egypt — Elephantine — Inscribed Potsherds — Bazaar of
Assuan — The Camel — A Ride in the Desert — The Obelisk
of the Quarry — A Death iu the Town 157

CONTENTS. XV

CHAPTER XL

THE CATARACT AND THE DESERT,

Page.

Scenery of the Cataract — The Sheik of the Cataract — Vexa-
tious Delays — The Painter's Vocabulary — Mahatta — An
cient Bed of the Nile — Abyssinian Caravan 176

CHAPTER XII,

PHIL.E.

Pharaoh's "Bed— The Temples — Champollion's Discovery — The
Painted Columns — Coptic Phike — Phike and Desaix —
Chamber of Osiris — Inscribed Rock — View from the Roof
of the Temple 188

CHAPTER XIII.

PHIL^E TO KOROSKO.

Nubian Scenery — A Sand-slope — Missing Yusef — Trading by
Ithe Way — Panoramic Views — Volcanic Cones — Dakkeh —
Korosko — Letters from Home 211

CHAPTER XIV.

KOROSKO TO ABOU SIMBEL.

El-Id el-Kebir — Stalking Wild Ducks — Temple of Amada —
Fine Art of the Thothmes — Derr — A Native Funeral —
Temple of Derr — The "Fair" Families — The Sakkieh —
Arrival at Abou Simbel by Moonlight 220

CHAPTER XV.

RAMESES THE GREAT.

Youth of Rameses the Great — Treaty with the Kheta — His
Wives — His Great Works — The Captivity — Pithom and
Rameses — Kauiser and Keniamon — The Birth of Moses —
Tomb of Osymandias — Character of Rameses the Great. . . 230

CHAPTER XVI.

ABOU SIMBEL.

The Colossi — Portraits of Rameses the Great — The Great Sand-
drift — ^he Smaller Temples — " Rameses and Nefertari" —
The Great Temple — A Monster Tableau — Alone in the
Great Temple — Trail of a Crocodile — Cleaning the Colossus
—The Sufferings of the Sketcher 258

xvi CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SECOND CATARACT.

Page.

Volcanic Mountains— Kalat Adda— Gebel est-Shems— The First
Crocodile — Dull Scenery — Wady Halfeli— The Rock of
Abusir — The Second Cataract — The Great View — Croco-
dile-slaying— Excavating a Tumulus — Comforts of Home
on the Nile 283

CHAPTER XVIII.

DISCOVERIES AT ABOTJ SIMBEL.

Society at Abou Simbel — The Painter Discovers a Rock-cut
Chamber — Sunday Employment — Re-enforcement of Na-
tives— Excavation — The Sheik— Discovery of Human Re-
mains— Discovery of Pylon and Staircase — Decorations of
Painted Chamber — Inscriptions 295

CHAPTER XIX.

BACK THROUGH NUBIA.

Temples ad infinitum — Tosko — Crocodiles — Derr and Amada
Again — Wady Sabooah — Haughty Beauty — A Nameless
City — A River of Sand — Undiscovered Temple — Mahar-
rakeh — Dakkeh — Fortress of Kobban — Gerf Hossayn —
Dendoor — Bayt-et-Welly — The Karnak of Nubia — Silco
of the Ethiopians — Tafah — Dabod — Baby-shooting — A Di-
lemma— Justice in Egypt — The Last of Philse 324

CHAPTER XX.

SILSILIS AND EDFU.

Shooting the Cataract — Kom Ombo — Quarries of Silsilis — Edfu
the Most Perfect of Egyptian Temples — View from the
Pylons — Sand Columns 353

CHAPTER XXI.

THEBES.

Luxor Again — Imitation "Anteekahs" — Digging for Mummies —
Tombs of Thebes — The Ramesseum — The Granite Colossus
— Medinet Habu — The Pavilion of Rameses III — The
Great Chronicle — An Arab Storv-teller — Gournah — Bab el
Moluk— The Shadowless Valley of Death— The Tombs of
the Kings — Stolen Goods — The French House — An Arab
Dinner and Fantasia — The Coptic Church at Luxor — A
Coptic Service — A Coptic Bishop. , 370

CONTENTS. xvii

CHAPTER XXII.

ABYDUS AND CAIRO.

Page.
Last Weeks on the Nile — Spring in Egypt — Ninety-nine in the
Shade — Samata — Unbroken Donkeys — The Plain of Aby-
dus — Harvest-time — A Biblical Idyll — Arabatthe Buried —
Mena — Origin of the Egyptian People — Temple of Seti —
New Tablet of Abydus — Abydus and Teni — Kom-es-Sul-
tan — Visit to a Native Aga — The Hareem — Condition of
Women in Egypt — Back at Cairo — "In the Name of the
Prophet, Cakes!" — The M61id-en-Nebee — A Human Cause-
way— The Boulak Museum — Prince Ra-hotep and Princess
Nefer-t — Early Drive to Ghizeh — Ascent of the Great
Pyramid — The Sphinx — The View from the Top — The
End 421

APPENDIX.

I. A.*McCallurn, Esq., to the Editor of The Times 447

II. The Egyption Pantheon 447

III. The Religious Belief of the Egyptians 450

IV. Egyptian Chronology 452

V. Contemporary Chronology of Egypt, Mesopotamia and

Babylon 454

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page.
The Secret of tlie Sphinx. After a Painting by Elihu Ved-

der, Esq x

Head of Ti 57

The Shaduf 69

Cleopatra * Ill

Shrines of Osiris, 1, 2 and 3 205-206

Resurrection of Osiris 207

Cartouches of Rameses the Great 237

Ranieses the Great (Bay t -el- Welly) . 260

Rameses the Great (Abydus) 260

Ranieses the Great (Abou Simbel) 260

Profile of Rameses II (from the Southernmost Colossus; Abou

Simbel) 261

Ground-plan 307

Pattern of Cornice 308

Standard of Horus Aroeris 309

Rameses II of Speos 311

Temple of Amada (Wall Inscription) 313

Heraldic Inscription (North Wall of Speos) 317

Goddess Ta-ur-t (Silsilis) 359

Goddess Ta-ur-t (Phila?) 359

Vases and Goblets (Medinet Habu) 385

Prince Ra-Hotep and Princess Nefer-t 439

A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER I.

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID.

It is the traveler's lot to dine at many table-d'hotes in
the course of many wanderings; but it seldom befalls him to
make one of a more miscellaneous gathering than that
which overfills the great dining-room at Shepheard's
Hotel in Cairo during the beginning and height of the
regular Egyptian season. Here assemble daily some two
to three hundred persons of all ranks, nationalities, and
pursuits; half of whom are Anglo-Indians homeward or
outward bound, European residents, or visitors established
in Cairo for the winter. The other half, it may be taken
for granted, are going up the Nile. So composite and
incongruous is this body of Nile-goers, young and old,
well-dressed and ill-dressed, learned and unlearned, that
the new-comer's first impulse is to inquire from what
motives so many persons of dissimilar tastes and training
can be led to embark upon an expedition which is, to say
the least of it, very tedious, very costly, and of an alto-
gether exceptional interest.

His curiosity, however, is soon gratified. Before two
days are over, he knows everybody's name and everybody's
business ; distinguishes at first sight between a Cook's
tourist and an independent traveler; and has discovered
that nine-tenths of those whom he is likely to meet up the
river are English or American. The rest will be mostly
German, with a sprinkling of Belgian and French. So far
en bloc; but the details are more heterogeneous still. Here
are invalids in search of health ; artists in search of
subjects; sportsmen keen upon crocodiles; statesmen out
for a holiday : special correspondents alert for gossip ;
collectors on the scent of papyri and mummies; men of

2 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

science with only scientific ends in view; and the usual
surplus of idlers who travel for the mere love of travel
or the satisfaction of a purposeless curiosity.

Now in a place like Shepheard's, where every fresh
arrival has the honor of contributing, for at least a few
minutes, to the general entertainment, the first appearance
of L and the writer, tired, dusty, and considerably sun-
burned, may well have given rise to some of the comments
in usual circulation at those crowded tables. People asked
each other, most likely, where these two wandering
Englishwomen had come from; why they had not dressed
for dinner; what brought them to Egypt; and if they also
were going up the Nile — to which questions it would have
been easy to give satisfactory answers.

"We came from Alexandria, having had a rough passage
from Brindisi, followed by forty-eight hours of quarantine.
"We had not dressed for dinner because, having driven on
from the station in advance of dragoman and luggage, we
were but just in time to take seats with the rest. We
intended, of course, to go up the Nile; and had any one
ventured to inquire in so many words what brought us to
Egypt, we should have replied: " Stress of weather."

For in simple truth we had drifted hither by accident,
with no excuse of health, or business, or any serious object
whatever; and had just taken refuge in Egypt as one
might turn aside into the Burlington Arcade or the
Passage des Panoramas — to get out of the rain.

And with good reason. Having left home early in Sep-
tember for a few weeks' sketching in central France, we
had been pursued by the wettest of wet weather. "Washed
out of the hill country, we fared no better in the plains.
At Xismes it poured for a month without stopping.
Debating at last whether it were better to take our wet
umbrellas back at once to England, or push on farther
still in search of sunshine, the talk fell upon Algiers —
Malta — Cairo; and Cairo carried it. Never was distant
expedition entered upon with less premeditation! The
thing was no sooner decided than we were gone. Nice,
Genoa, Bologna, Ancona flitted by, as in a dream ; and
Bedreddin Hassan when he awoke at the gates of Damascus
was scarcely more surprised than the writer of these pages
when she found herself on board of the Simla and steam-
ing out of the port of Brindisi.

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 3

Here, then, without definite plans, outfit, or any kind of
oriental experience, behold us arrived in Cairo on the
29th of November, 1873, literally, and most prosaically, in
search of fine weather.

But what had memory to do with rains on land, or
storms at sea, or the impatient hours of quarantine, or
anything dismal or disagreeable, when one awoke at sun-
rise to see those gray-green palms outside the window
solemnly bowing their plumed heads toward each other,
against a rose-colored dawn? It was dark last night, and
I had no idea that my room overlooked an enchanted gar-
den, far-reaching and solitary, peopled with stately giants
beneath whose tufted crowns hung rich clusters of maroon
and amber dates. It was a still, warm morning. Grave
gray and black crows flew heavily from tree to tree, or
perched, cawing meditatively, upon the topmost branches.
Yonder, between the pillared stems, rose the minaret of a
very distant mosque ; and here, where the garden was
bounded by a high wall and a windowless house, I saw a
veiled lady walking on the terraced roof in the midst of a
cloud of pigeons. Nothing could be more simple than the
scene and its accessories; nothing, at the same time, more
eastern, strange, and unreal.

But in order thoroughly to enjoy an overwhelming,
ineffaceable first impression of oriental out-of-door life
one should begin in Cairo with a day in the native bazaars;
neither buying, nor sketching, nor seeking information,
but just taking in scene after scene, with its manifold com-
binations of light and shade, color, costume, and architect-
ural detail. Every shop front, every street corner, every
turbaned group is a ready-made picture. The old Turk
who sets up his cake stall in the recess of a sculptured
doorway; the donkey boy, with his gayly caparisoned ass,
waiting for customers; the beggar asleep on the steps of
the mosque; the veiled woman filling her water jar at the
public fountain — they all look as if they had been put
there expressly to be painted.

Nor is the background less picturesque than the figures.
The houses are high and narrow. The upper stories pro-
ject; and from these again jut windows of delicate turned
lattice work in old brown wood, like big bird-cages. The
street is roofed in overhead with long rafters and pieces of
matting, through Avhich a dusty sunbeam straggles here

4 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

and there, casting patches of light upon the moving
crowd. The unpaved thoroughfare — a mere narrow lane,
full of ruts and watered profusely twice or thrice a day — is
lined with little wooden shop fronts, like open cabinets full
of shelves, where the merchants sit cross-legged in the
midst of their goods, looking out at the passers-by and
smoking in silence. Meanwhile, the crowd ebbs and flows
unceasingly — a noisy, changing, restless, party-colored
tide, half European, half oriental, on foot, on horse-
back, and in carriages. Here are Syrian dragomans in
baggy trousers and braided jackets; barefooted Egyptian
fellaheen in ragged blue shirts and felt skull-caps ;
Greeks in absurdly stiff white tunics, like walking
pen-wipers ; Persians with high miter-like caps of dark
woven stuff; swarthy Bedouins in flowing garments, creamy-
white, with chocolate stripes a foot wide, and head-shawl
of the same bound about the brow with a fillet of twisted
camel's hair ; Englishmen in palm-leaf hats and knicker-
bockers, dangling theirlong legs across almost invisible don-
keys ; native women of the poorer class, in black veils that
leave only the eyes uncovered, and long trailing gar-
ments of dark blue and black striped cotton; der-
vishes in patchwork coats, their matted hair streaming
from under fantastic head-dresses; blue-black Abyssinians
with incredibly slender, bowed legs, like attenuated ebony
balustrades; Armenian priests, looking exactly like Portia
as the doctor, in long black gowns and high square caps;
majestic ghosts of Algerine Arabs, all in white; mounted
Janissaries with jingling sabers and gold-embroidered
jackets; merchants, beggars, soldiers, boatmen, laborers,
workmen, in every variety of costume, and of every shade
of complexion from fair to dark, from tawny to copper-
color, from deepest bronze to bluest black.

Now a water-carrier goes by, bending under the weight
of his newly replenished goatskin, the legs of which being
tied up, the neck fitted with a brass cock, and the hair left
on, looks horribly bloated and life-like. Now conies a
sweetmeat-vender with a tray of that gummy compound
known to English children as " lumps of delight ; and
now an Egyptian lady on a large gray donkey led
by a servant with a showy saber at his side. The
lady wears a rose-colored silk dress and white veil, be-
sides a black silk outer garment, which, being cloak,

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 5

hood, and veil all in one, fills out with the wind as she
rides, like a balloon. She sits astride; her naked feet,
in their violet velvet slippers, just resting on the stirrups.
She takes care to display a plump brown arm laden with
massive gold bracelets, and, to judge by the way in which
she uses a pair of liquid black eyes, would not be sorry to
let her face be seen also. Nor is the steed less well dressed
than his mistress. His close-shaven legs and hindquarters
are painted in hlue and white zigzags picked out with bands
of pale yellow; his high-pommeled saddle is resplendent
with velvet and embroidery; and his head -gear is all tags,
tassels, and fringes. Such a donkey as this is worth from
sixty to a hundred pounds sterling. Next passes an open
barouche full of laughing Englishwomen; or a grave pro-
vincial sheik all in black, riding a handsome bay Arab,
demi-sang; or an Egyptian gentleman in European dress
and Turkish fez, driven by an English groom in an En-
glish phaeton. Before him, wand in hand, bare-legged,
eager-eyed, in Greek skull-cap and gorgeous gold-embroi-
dered waistcoat and fluttering white tunic, flies a native
sai's, or running footman. No person of position drives
in Cairo without one or two of these attendants. The
sai's (strong, light and beautiful, like John of Bologna's
Mercury) are said to die young. The pace kills them.
Next passes a lemonade-seller, with his tin jar in one hand
and his decanter and brass cups in the other; or an itiner-
ant slipper-vender with a bunch of red and yellow morocco
shoes dangling at the end of a long pole; or a London-
built miniature brougham containing two ladies in trans-
parent Turkish veils, preceded by a Nubian outrider in
semi-military livery; or, perhaps, a train of camels, ill-
tempered and supercilious, craning their scrannel necks
above the crowd, and laden with canvas bales scrawled over
with Arabic addresses.

But the Egyptian, Arab and Turkish merchants, whether
mingling in the general tide or sitting on their counters,
are the most picturesque personages in all this busy scene.
They wear ample turbans, for the most part white; long
vests of striped Syrian silk reaching to the feet; and an
outer robe of braided cloth or cashmere. The vest is con-
fined round the waist by a rich sash ; and the outer robe,
or gibbeh, is generally of some beautiful degraded color,
such as maize, mulberry, olive, peach, sea-green, salmon-

6 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

pink, sienna-brown, and the like. That these stately
beings should vulgarly buy and sell, instead of reposing all
their lives on luxurious divans and being waited upon by
beautiful Circassians, seems altogether contrary to the
eternal fitness of things. Here, for instance, is a grand
vizier in a gorgeous white and amber satin vest, who con-
descends to retail pipe-bowls — dull red clay pipe-bowls of
all sizes and prices. He sells nothing else, and has not only a
pile of them on the counter, but abinful at the back of his
shop. They are made at Siout, in Upper Egypt, and may
be bought at the Algerine shops in London almost as
cheaply as in Cairo. Another majestic pasha deals in
brass and copper vessels, drinking-cups, basins, ewers,
trays, incense-burners, chafing-dishes, and the like; some
of which are exquisitely engraved with arabesque patterns
or sentences from the poets. A third sells silks from the
looms of Lebanon and gold and silver tissues from Damas-
cus. Others, again, sell old arms, old porcelian, old em-
broideries, second-hand prayer-carpets, and quaint little
stools and cabinets of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
•Here, too, the tobacco merchant sits behind a huge cake
of latakia as big as his own body; and the sponge mer-
chant smokes his long chibouk in a bower of sponges.

Most amusing of all, however, are those bazaars in
which each trade occupies its separate quarter. You pass
through an old stone gateway or down a narrow turning,
and find yourself amid a colony of saddlers, stitching,
hammering, punching, riveting. You walk up one alley
and down another, between shop fronts hung round with
tasseled head-gear and hump-backed saddles of all qualities
and colors. Here .are ladies' saddles, military saddles,
donkey saddles, and saddles for great officers of state;
saddles covered with red leather, with crimson and violet
velvet, with maroon, and gray, and purple cloth ; saddles
embroidered with gold and silver, studded with brass-
headed nails, or trimmed with braid.

Another turn or two, and you are in the slipper bazaar,
walking down avenues of red" and yellow morocco slippers;
the former of home manufacture, the latter from Tunis.
Here are slippers with pointed toes, turned-up toes, and
toes as round and flat as horseshoes; walking slippers
with thick soles, and soft yellow slippers to be worn as
inside socks, which have no soles at all. These absurd

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 7

little scarlet bluchers with tassels are for little boys; the
brown morocco shoes are for grooms ; the velvet slippers
embroidered with gold and beads and seed pearls are for
wealthy hareens, and are sold at prices varying from five
shillings to five pounds the pair.

The carpet bazaar is of considerable extent, and consists of
a network of alleys and counter-alleys opening off to the
right of the Muski, which is the Regent street of Cairo.
The houses in most of these alleys are rich in antique
lattice windows and Saracenic doorways. One little square
is tapestried all round with Persian and Syrian rugs,
Damascus saddle-bags, and Turkish prayer-carpets. The
merchants sit and smoke in the midst of their goods ; and
up in one corner an old "kahwagee," or coffee-seller, plies
his humble trade. He has set up his little stove and hang-
ing-shelf beside the doorway of a dilapidated khan, the
walls of which are faced with arabesque panelings infold
carved stone. It is one of the most picturesque " bits " in
Cairo. The striped carpets of Tunis ; the dim gray and
blue, or gray and red fabrics of Algiers; the shaggy
rugs of Laodicea and Smyrna ; the rich blues and greens
and subdued reds of Turkey ; and the wonderfully varied,
harmonious patterns of Persia, have each their local
habitation in the neighboring alleys. One is never tired
of traversing these half-lighted avenues all aglow with
gorgeous color and peopled with figures that come and go
like the actors in some Christmas piece of oriental
pageantrv.

In the'Khan Khaleel, the place of the gold and silver
smiths' bazaar, there is found, on the contrary, scarcely
any display of goods for sale. The alleys are so narrow m
this part that two persons can with difficulty walk in them
abreast ; and the shops, tinier than ever, are mere cup-
boards with about three feet of frontage. The back of each
cupboard is fitted with tiers of little drawers and pigeon-
holes, and in front is a kind of matted stone step, called a
mastabah, which serves for seat and counter. The customer
sits on the edge of the mastabah ; the merchant squats,
cross-legged, inside. In this position he can, without
rising, take out drawer after drawer ; and thus^ the space
between the two becomes piled with gold and silver orna-
ments. These differ from each other only in the metal,
the patterns being identical ; and they are sold by weight,

8 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

with a due margin for profit. In dealing with strangers
who do not understand the Egyptian system of weights,
silver articles are commonly weighed against rupees or five-
franc pieces, and gold articles against napoleons or
sovereigns. The ornaments made in Cairo consist chiefly
of chains and earrings, anklets, bangles, necklaces strung
with coins or tusk-shaped pendants, amulet-cases of filigree
or repousse work, and penannular bracelets of rude exe-
cution, but rich and ancient designs. As for the merchants
their civility and patience are inexhaustible. One may turn
over their'whole stock, try on all their bracelets, go away
again and again without buying, and yet be always wel-
comed and dismissed with smiles. L and the writer

spent many an hour practicing Arabic in the Khan
Khaleel, without, it is to be feared, a corresponding
degree of benefit to the merchants.

There are many other special bazaars in Cairo,
as the sweetmeat bazaar ; the hardware bazaar ;
the tobacco bazaar ; the sword-mounters' and copper-
smiths' bazaars ; the Moorish bazaar, where fez caps,
burnouses and Barbary goods are sold ; and some
extensive bazaars for the sale of English and
French muslins and Manchester cotton goods ; but
these last are for the most part of inferior interest. Among
certain fabrics manufactured in England expressly for the
eastern market, we observed a most hideous printed muslin
representing small black devils capering over a yellow
ground, and we learned that it was much in favor for
children's dresses.

But the bazaars, however picturesque, are far from being
the only sights of Cairo. There are mosques in plenty;
grand old Saracenic gates; ancient Coptic churches; the
museum of Egyptian antiquities; and, within driving dis-
tance, the tombs of the Caliphs, Heliopolis, the Pyramids
and the Sphinx. To remember in what order the present
travelers saw these things would now be impossible; for
they lived in a dream and were at first too bewildered to
catalogue their impressions very methodically. Some
places they were for the present obliged to dismiss with
only a passing glance; others had to be wholly deferred till
their return to Cairo.

In the meanwhile, our first business was to look at daha-
beeyahs; and the looking at dahabeeyahs compelled us

CAIRO AND THE ORE AT PYRAMID. 9

constantly to turn our steps and our thoughts in the direc-
tion of Boulak — a desolate place by the river, where some
two or three hundred Nile boats lay moored for hire. Now,
most persons know something of the miseries of house-
hunting, but only those who have experienced them know
how much keener are the miseries of dahabeeyah-hunting. It
is more bewildering and more fatiguing, and is beset by its
own special and peculiar difficulties. The boats, in the first
place, are all built on the same plan, which is not the case
with houses; and, except as they run bigger or smaller,
cleaner or dirtier, are as like each other as twin oysters.
The same may be said of their captains, with the same dif-
ferences; for, to a person who has been only a few days
in Egypt, one black or copper-colored man is exactly like
every other black or copper-colored man. Then each rei's,
or captain, displays the certificates given him by former
travelers ; and these certificates, being apparently in
active circulation, have a mysterious way of turning
up again and again on board different boats and in the
hands of different claimants. Nor is this all. Dahabee-
yahs are given to changing their places, which houses do
not do; so that the boats which lay yesterday alongside
the eastern bank may be over at the western bank to-day,
or hidden in the midst of a dozen others half a mile lower
down the river. All this is very perplexing; yet it is as
nothing compared with the state of confusion one gets into
when attempting to weigh the advantages or disadvantages
of boats with six cabins and boats with eight; boats pro-
vided with canteen, and boats without; boats that can pass
the cataract, and boats that can't; boats that are only twice
as dear as they ought to be, and boats with that defect five
orsix times multiplied. Their names, again — ghazal, sar-
awa, fostat, dongola — unlike any names one has ever
heard before, afford as yet no kind of help to the
memory. Neither do the names of their captains; for they
are all Mohammeds or Hassans. Neither do their prices;
for they vary from day to day, according to the state of
the market as shown by the returns of arrivals at the prin-
cipal hotels.

Add to all this the fact that no rei's speaks anything
but Arabic, and that every word of inquiry or negotiation
has to be filtered, more or less inaccurately, through a
dragoman, and then perhaps those who have not yet tried

10 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

this variety of the pleasures of the chase may be able to
form some notion of the weary, hopeless, puzzling work
which lies before the dahabeeyah-hunter in Cairo.

Thus it came to pass that, for the first ten days or so,
some three or four hours had to be devoted every morning
to the business of the boats; at the end of which time we
were no nearer a conclusion than at first. The small boats
were too small for either comfort or safety, especially in
what Nile travelers call " a big wind." The medium-sized
boats (which lie under the suspicion of being used in sum-
mer for the transport of cargo) were for the most part of
doubtful cleanliness. The largest boats, which alone
seemed unexceptionable, contained from eight to ten
cabins, besides two saloons, and were obviously too large

for a party consisting of only L , the writer and a maid.

And all were exorbitantly dear. Encompassed by these
manifold difficulties; listening now to this and now to that
person's opinion ; deliberating, haggling, comparing, hesi-
tating, we vibrated daily between Boulak and Cairo and
led a miserable life. Meanwhile, however, we met some
former acquaintances; made some new ones; and when
not too tired or downhearted, saw what we could of the
sights of Cairo — which helped a little to soften the asperi-
ties of our lot.

One of our first excursions was, of course, to the pyramids,
which lie within an hour and a half's easy drive from the
hotel door. We started immediately after an early luncheon,
followed an excellent road all the way and were back in
time for dinner at half-past six. But it must be under-
stood that we did not go to see the pyramids. We went
only to look at them. Later on (having meanwhile been
up the Nile and back and gone through months of train-
ing), we came again, not only with due leisure, but also
with some practical understanding of the manifold phases
through which the arts and architecture of Egypt had
passed since those far-off days of Cheops and Chephren.
Then, only, we can be said to have seen the pyramids; and
till we arrive at that stage of our pilgrimage it will be well
to defer everything like a detailed account of them or their
surroundings. Of this first brief visit, enough, therefore, a
brief record.

The first glimpse that most travelers now get of the
pyramids is from the window of the railway carriage as

CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. H

they come from Alexandria; and it is not impressive. It
does not take one's breath away, for instance, like a first
sight of the Alps from the high level of the Neufchatel
line, or the outline of the Acropolis at Athens as one first
recognizes it from the sea. The well-known triangular
forms look small and shadowy, and are too familiar to be
in any way startling. And the same, I think, is true of
every distant view of them — that is, of every view which is
too distant to afford the means of scaling them against
other objects. It is only in approaching them, and ob-
serving how they grow with every foot of the road, that
one begins to feel they are not so familiar after all.

But when at last the edge of the desert is reached, and
the long sand-slope climbed, and the rocky platform
gained, and the great pyramid in all its unexpected bulk
and majesty towers close above one's head, the effect is as
sudden as it is overwhelming. It shuts out the sky and
the horizon. It shuts out all the other pyramids. It shuts
out everything but the sense of awe and wonder.

Now, too, one discovers that it was with the forms of
the pyramids, and only their forms, that one had been ac-
quainted all these years past. Of their surface, their color,
their relative position, their number (to say nothing of
their size), one had hitherto entertained no kind of
definite idea. The most careful study of plans and
measurements, the clearest photographs, the most elabo-
rate descriptions, had done little or nothing, after all, to
make one know the place beforehand. This undulating
table-land of sand and rock, pitted with open graves and
cumbered with mounds of shapeless masonry, is wholly
unlike the desert of our dreams. The pyramids of Cheops
and Chephren are bigger than we had expected; the pyra-
mid of Mycerinusis smaller. Here, too, are nine pyramids,
instead of three. They are all entered in the plans and
mentioned in the guide-books; but, somehow, one is un-
prepared to find them there, and cannot help looking upon
them as intruders. These six extra pyramids are small
and greatly dilapidated. One, indeed, is little more than
a big cairn.

Even the great pyramid puzzles us with an unexpected
sense of unlikeness. We all know and have known from
childhood, that it was stripped of its outer blocks some
five hundred years ago to build Arab mosques and palaces;

12 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

but the rugged, rock-like aspect of that giant staircase
takes us by surprise, nevertheless. Nor does it look like a
partial ruin either. It looks as if it had been left un-
finished, and as if the workmen might be coming back to-
morrow morning.

The color again is a surprise. Few persons can be aware
beforehand of the rich tawny hue that Egyptian limestone
assumes after ages of exposure to the blaze of an Egyptian
sky. Seen in certain lights, the pyramids look like piles
of massy gold.

Having but one hour and forty minutes to spend on the
spot, we resolutely refused on this first occasion to be
shown anything, or told anything, or to be taken any-
where— except, indeed, for a few minutes to the brink of
the sand hollow in which the Sphinx lies couchant. We
wished to give our whole attention, and all the short time
at our disposal, to the great pyramid only. To gain some
impression of the outer aspect and size of this enormous
structure — to steady our minds to something like an under-
standing of its age — was enough, and more than enough,
for so brief a visit.

For it is no easy task to realize, however imperfectly,
the duration of six or seven thousand years; and the great
pyramid, which is supposed to have been some four thou-
sand two hundred and odd years old at the time of the
birth of Christ, is now in its seventh millenary. Stand-
ing there close against the base of it; touching it; measur-
ing her own height against one of its lowest blocks; looking
up all the stages of that vast, receding, rugged wall, which
leads upward like an Alpine buttress and seems almost to
touch the sky, the writer suddenly became aware that
these remote dates had never presented themselves to her
mind until this moment as anything but abstract numerals.
Now, for the first time, they resolved themselves into
something concrete, definite, real. They were no longer
figures, but years with their changes of season, their high
and low Niles, their seed-times and harvests. The con-
sciousness of that moment will never, perhaps, quite wear
away. It was as if one had been snatched up for an
instant to some vast height overlooking the plains of time,
and had seen the centuries mapped out beneath one's feet.

To appreciate the size of the great pyramid is less diffi-
cult than to apprehend its age. No one who has walked

CAIRO AND TIIU Gil BAT PYRAMID.

13

the length of one side, climbed to the top, and learned the
dimensions from Murray, can fail to form a tolerably clear
idea of its mere bnlk. The measurements given by Sir
Gardner Wilkinson are as follows: Length of each side,
732 feet; perpendicular height, 480 feet 9 inches; area,
535,824 square feet.* That is to say it stands 115 feet 9
inches higher than the cross on the top of St. Paul's and
about 20 feet lower than Box Hill in Surrey; and if trans-
ported bodily to London, it would a little more than cover
the whole area of Lincoln's Inn Fields. These are suffi-
ciently matter-of-fact statements and sufficiently intelligi-
ble; but, like most calculations of the kind, they diminish
rather than do justice to the dignity of the subject.

More impressive by far than the weightiest array of fig-
ures or the most striking comparisons, was the shadow cast
by the great pyramid as the sun went down. That mighty
shadow, sharp and distinct, stretched across the stony
platform of the desert and over full three quarters of a
mile of the green plain below. It divided the sunlight
where it fell, just as its great original divided the sunlight

* Since the first edition of this book was issued, the publication of
Mr. W. M. Flinders Petrie's standard work, entitled " The Pyramids
and Temples of (iizeh," has for the first time placed a thoroughly accu-
rate and scientific description of the great pyramid at the disposal
of students. Calculating from the rock-cut sockets at the four
corners, and from the true level of the pavement, Mr. Petrie finds
that the square of the original base of the structure, in inches, is of
these dimensions:

Difference
from Mean.

Azimuth.

Difference

from Mean.

N.

9069.4

+

.6

— 3' 20"

+

23"

E.

9067.7

_

1.1

— 3' 57"

14"

S.

9069.5

+

— 3' 41"

+

2"

w.

9068.6

.2

— 3' 54"

11"

Mean.

9068.8

.65

— 3' 43"

12"

For the height, Mr. Petrie, after duly weighing all data, such as
the thickness of the three casing-stones yet in situ, and the pre-
sumed thickness of those which formerly faced the upper courses of
the masonry, gives from his observations of the mean angle of the
pyramid, a height from base to apex of 5776.0 + 7.0 inches. See
"The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh," chap. vi. pp. 37-43. [Note
to the second edition.]

14 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

in the upper air; and it darkened the space it covered,
like an eclijise. It was not without a thrill of something
approaching to awe that one remembered hew this self-
same shadow had gone on registering not only the height
of the most stupendous gnomon ever set up by human
hands, but the slow passage day by day of more than sixty
centuries of the world's history.

It was still lengthening over the landscape as we went
down the long sand-slope and regained the carriage. Some
six or eight Arabs in fluttering white garments ran on
ahead to bid us a last good-by. That we should have
driven over from Cairo only to sit quietly down and look
at the great pyramid had filled them with unfeigned aston-
ishment. With such energy and dispatch as the modern
traveler uses, we might have been to the top and seen the
temple of the Sphinx and done two or three of the prin-
cipal tombs in the time.

" You come again!" said they. " Good Arab show
you everything. You see nothing this time!"

So, promising to return ere long, we drove away;
well content, nevertheless, with the way in which our
time had been spent.

The pyramid Bedouins have been plentifully abused by
travelers and guide-books, but we found no reason to
complain of them now or afterward. They neither crowded
round us, nor followed us, nor importuned us in any way.
They are naturally vivacious and very talkative ; yet the
gentle fellows were dumb as mutes when they found we
wished for silence. And they were satisfied with a very
moderate bakhshish at parting.

As a fitting sequel to this excursion, we went, I think
next day, to see the mosque of Sultan Hassan, which is
one of those mediaeval structures said to have been built
with the casing-stones of the great pyramid. .

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 15

CHAPTER II.

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE.

The mosque of Sultan Hassan, confessedly the most
beautiful iu Cairo, is also perhaps the most beautiful in the
Moslem world. It was built at just that happy moment
when Arabian art in Egypt, having ceased merely to appro-
priate or imitate, had at length evolved an original archi-
tectural style out of the heterogeneous elements of Roman
and early Christian edifices. The mosques of a few cent-
uries earlier (as, for instance, that of Tulun, which
marks the first departure from the old Byzantine model)
consisted of little more than a court-yard with colonnades
leading to a hall supported on a forest of pillars. A little
more than a century later, and the national style had
already experienced the beginnings of that prolonged
eclipse which finally resulted in the bastard Neo-ByzantiiiR
renaissance represented by the mosque of Mehemet All.
But the mosque of Sultan Hassan, built ninety-seven
years before the taking of Constantinople, may justly be
regarded as the highest point reached by Saracenic art in
Egypt after it had used up the Greek and Roman material
of Memphis, and before its new-born originality became
modified by influences from beyond the Bosporus. Its
pre-eminence is due neither to the greatness of its dimen-
sions nor to the splendor of its materials. It is neither so
large as the great mosque at Damascus, nor so rich in
costly marbles as Saint Sophia in Constantinople; but iu
design, proportion, and a certain lofty grace impossible to
describe, it surpasses these, and every other mosque,
whether original or adapted, with which the writer is
acquainted.

The whole structure is purely national. Every line and
curve in it, and every inch of detail, is in the best style of
the best period of the Arabian school. And above all, it
was designed expressly for its present purpose. The two

16 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

famous mosques of Damascus and Constantinople having,
on the contrary, been Christian churches, betray evidences
of adaptation. In Saint Sophia, the space once occupied
by the figure of the Eedeemer may be distinctly traced in
the mosaic work of the apsis, filled in with gold tesserae of
later date ; while the magnificent gates of the great
mosque at Damascus are decorated, among other Christian
emblems, with the sacramental chalice. But the mosque
of Sultan Hassan, built by En Nasir Hassan in the high
and palmy days of the Memlook rule, is marred by no
discrepancies. For a mosque it was designed, and a
mosque it remains. Too soon it will be only a beautiful
ruin.

A number of small streets having lately been demolished
in this quarter, the approach to the mosque lies across a
desolate open space littered with debris, but destined to be
laid out as a public square. With this desirable end in
view, some half-dozen workmen were lazily loading as
many camels with rubble, which is the Arab way of cart-
ing rubbish. If they persevere, and the minister of pub-
lic works continues to pay their wages with due punctu-
ality, the ground will perhaps get cleared in eight or ten
years' time.

Driving up with some difficulty to the foot of the great
steps, which were crowded with idlers smoking and sleep-
ing, we observed a long and apparently fast-widening
fissure reaching nearly from top to bottom of the main
wall of the building, close against the minaret. It looked
like just such a rent as might be caused by a shock of
earthquake, and, being still new to the east, we wondered
the government had not set to work to mend it. We had
yet to learn that nothing is ever mended in Cairo. Here,
as in Constantinople, new buildings spring up apace, but
the old, no matter how venerable, are allowed to molder
away, inch by inch, till nothing remains but a heap of
ruins.

Going up the steps and through a lofty hall, up some
more steps and along a gloomy corridor, we came to the
great court, before entering which, however, we had to
take off our boots and put on slippers brought for the
purpose. The first sight of this court is an architectural
surprise. It is like nothing one has seen before, and its
beauty equals its novelty. Imagine an immense marble

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 17

quadrangle, open to the sky and inclosed within lofty walls,
with, at each side, a vast recess framed in by a single arch.
The quadrangle is more than one hundred feet square, and
the walls are more than one hundred feet high. Each
recess forms a spacious hall for rest and prayer, and all are
matted; but that at the eastern end is wider and consider-
ably deeper than the other three, and the noble arch that
incloses it like the proscenium of a splendid stage, meas-
ures, according to Fergusson, sixty-nine feet five inches in
the span. It looks much larger. This principal hall, the
floor of which is raised one step at the upper end, measures
ninety feet in depth and ninety in height. The dais is
covered with prayer-rugs, and contains the holy niche and
the pulpit of the preacher. We observed that those who
came up here came only to pray. Having prayed, they
either went away or turned aside into one of the other
recesses to rest. There was a charming fountain in the
court with a dome roof as light and fragile looking as a
big bubble, at which each worshiper performed his ablu-
tions on coming in. This done, he left his slippers on the
matting and trod the carpeted dais barefoot.

This was the first time we had seen moslems at prayer,
and we could not but be impressed by their profound and
unaffected devotion. Some lay prostrate, their foreheads
touching the ground ; others were kneeling ; others bowing
in the prescribed attitudes of prayer. So absorbed were
they, that not even our unhallowed presence seemed to
disturb them. We did not then know that the pious mos-
leni is as devout out of the mosque as in it ; or that it is
his habit to pray when the appointed hours come round,
no matter where he may be, or how occupied. We soon
became so familiar, however, with this obvious trait of
Mohammedan life, that it seemed quite a matter of course
that the camel-driver should dismount and lay his fore-
head in the dust by the roadside ; or the merchant spread
his prayer-carpet on the narrow mastabah of his little shop
in the public bazaar ; or the boatman prostrate himself
with his face to the east, as the sun went down behind the
hills of the Libyan desert.

While we were admiring the spring of the roof and the
intricate arabesque decorations of the pulpit, a custode
came up with a big key and invited us to visit the tomb of
the founder, So we followed him into an enormous

18 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

vaulted hall a hundred feet square, in the center of which
stood a plain, railed-off tomb, with an empty iron-bound
coffer at the foot. We afterward learned that for five
hundred years — that is to say, ever since the death and
burial of Sultan Hassan — this coffer had contained a fine
copy of the Koran, traditionally said to have been written
by Sultan Hassan's own hand ; but that the khedive, who
is collecting choice and antique Arabic manuscripts, had
only the other day sent an order for its removal.

Nothing can be bolder or more elegant than the propor-
tions of this noble sepulchral hall, the walls of which are
covered with tracery in low relief incrusted with disks and
tesserae of turquoise-colored porcelain; while high up, in
order to lead off the vaulting of the roof, the corners are
rounded by means of recessed clusters of exquisite arabesque
woodwork, like pendent stalactites. But the tesserae
are fast falling out, and most of their places are
vacant; and the beautiful woodwork hangs in fragments,
tattered and cobwebbed, like time-worn banners, which the
first touch of a brush would bring down.

Going back again from the tomb to the court-yard, we
everywhere observed traces of the same dilapidation. The
fountain, once a miracle of Saracenic ornament, was fast
going to destruction. The rich marbles of its basement
were cracked and discolored, its stuccoed cupola was flak-
ing off piecemeal, its enamels were dropping out, its lace-
like wood tracery shredding away by inches.

Presently a tiny brown and golden bird perched with
pretty confidence on the brink of the basin, and hav-
ing splashed, and drunk, and preened its feathers like a
true believer at his ablutions, flew up to the top of the
cupola and sang deliciously. All else was profoundly
still. Large spaces of light and shadow divided the quad-
rangle. The sky showed overhead as a square opening of
burning solid blue; while here and there, reclining, pray-
ing, or quietly occupied, a number of turbaned figures
were picturesquely scattered over the matted floors of the
open halls around. Yonder sat a tailor cross-legged, mak-
ing a waistcoat ; near him, stretched on his face at full
length, sprawled a basket-maker with his half- woven
basket and bundle of rushes beside him ; and here, close
against the main entrance, lay a blind man and his dog;
the master asleep, the dog keeping watch. It was, as I

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. \\)

have said, our first mosque, and I well remember the sur-
prise with which Ave saw that tailor sewing on his buttons
and the sleepers lying about in the shade. We did not
then know that a Mohammedan mosque is as much a place
of rest and refuge as of prayer ; or that the houseless Arab
may take shelter there by night or day as freely as the
birds may build their nests in the cornice, or as the blind
man's dog may share the cool shade with his sleeping
master.

From the mosque of this Memlook sovereign it is but a
few minutes' uphill drive to the mosque of Mehemet Ali,
by whose orders the last of that royal race were massacred
just sixty-four years ago.* This mosque, built within the
precincts of the citadel on a spur of the Mokattam Hills
overlooking the city, is the most conspicuous object in
Cairo. Its attenuated minarets and clustered domes show
from every point of view for miles around, and remain
longer in sight, as one leaves, or returns to, Cairo, than
any other landmark. It is a spacious, costly, gaudy, com-
monplace building, with nothing really beautiful about it.
except the great marble court-yard and fountain. Tho
inside, which is entirely built of oriental alabaster, is car-
peted with magnificent Turkey carpets and hung with in-
numerable cut-glass chandeliers, so that it looks like a
huge vulgar drawing-room from which the furniture has
been cleared out for dancing.

The view from the outer platform is, however, magnifi-
cent. AVe saw it on a hazy day, and could not therefore
distinguish the point of the delta, which ought to have
been visible on the north ; but we could plainly see as far
southward as the pyramids of Sakkarah, and trace the
windings of the Kile for many miles across the plain.
The pyramids of Ghizeh, on their dais of desert rock
about twelve miles off, looked, as they always do look
from a distance, small and unimpressive ; but the great
alluvial valley dotted over with mud villages and inter-
sected by canals and tracts of palm forest ; the shining
river specked with sails ; and the wonderful city, all flat
roofs, cupolas, and minarets, spread out like an intricate
model at one's feet, were full of interest and absorbed our

* Now, seventy-seven years ago ; the first edition of this book
having been published thirteen years ago. [Note to second edition.]

20 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUB NILE.

whole attention. Looking down upon it from this eleva-
tion, it is as easy to believe that Cairo contains four hun-
dred mosques, as it is to stand on the brow of the Pincio
and believe in the three hundred and sixty-five churches
of modern Rome.

As we came away, they showed us the place in which the
MemloDk nobles, four hundred and seventy* in number,
were shot down like mad-dogs in a trap, that fatal first of
March, a.d. 1811. We saw the upper gate which was shut
behind them as they came out from the presence of the
pasha, and the lower gate which was shut before them to
prevent their egress. The walls of the narrow roadway in
which the slaughter was done are said to be pitted with
bullet marks; but we would not look for them.

I have already said that I do not very distinctly re-
member the order of our sight-seeing in Cairo, for the
reason that we saw some places before we went up the
river, some after we came back, and some (as for instance
the museum at Boulak) both before and after, and indeed
as often as possible. But I am at least quite certain that
we witnessed a performance of howling dervishes, and the
departure of the caravan for Mecca, before starting.

Of all the things that people do by way of pleasure, the
pursuit of a procession is surely one of the most wearisome.
They generally go a long way to see it; they wait a weary
time; it is always late; and when at length it does come, it
is over in a few minutes. The present pageant fulfilled all
these conditions in a superlative degree. We breakfasted
uncomfortably early, started soon after half-past seven, and
had taken up our position outside the Bab en-Xasr, on the
way to the desert, by half-past eight. Here we sat for
nearly three hours, exposed to clouds of dust and a burning
sun, with nothing to do but to watch the crowd and wait
patiently. All Shepheard's Hotel were there, and every
stranger in Cairo; and we all had smart open carriages
drawn by miserable screws and driven by bare-legged Arabs.
These Arabs, by the way, are excellent whips, and the

* One only is said to have escaped — a certain Emin Bey, who leaped
his horse over a gap in the wall, alighted safely in the piazza below,
and galloped away into the desert. The place of this famous leap
continued to be shown for many years, but there are no gaps in the
wall now, the citadel being the only place in Cairo which is kept in
thorough repair.

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 21

screws get along wonderfully; but it seems odd at first, and
not a little humiliating, to be whirled along behind a
coachman whose oidy livery consists of a rag of dirty white
turban, a scant tunic just reaching to his knees, and the
top boots with which nature has provided him.

Here, outside the walls, the crowd increased momentarily.
The place was like a fair with provision stalls, swings,
story-tellers, serpent-charmers, cake-sellers, sweetmeat-
sellers, sellers of sherbet, water, lemonade, sugared nuts,
fresh dates, hard-boiled eggs, oranges and sliced water-
melon. Veiled women carrying little bronze Cupids of
children astride upon the right shoulder, swarthy
Egyptians, coal-black Abyssinians, xVmbs and Nubians of
every shade from golden-brown to chocolate, fellahs, der-
vishes, donkey boys, street urchins and beggars with every
imaginable deformity, came and went ; squeezed them-
selves in and out among the carriages; lined the road on
each side of the great towered gateway; swarmed on the
top of every wall; and filled the air with laughter, a babel
of dialects, and those of Araby that are inseparable from
an eastern crowd. A harmless, unsavory, good-humored,
inoffensive throng, one glance at which was enough to put
to flight all one's preconceived notions about oriental
gravity of demeanor! For the truth is that gravity is by
no means an oriental characteristic. Take a Moham-
medan at his devotions, and he is a model of religious ab-
straction; bargain with him for a carpet, and he is as
impenetrable as a judge; but see him in his hours of re-
laxation, or on the occasion of a public holiday, and he is
as garrulous and full of laughter as a big child. Like a
child, too, he loves noise and movement for the mere sake
of noise and movement, and looks upon swings and fire-
works as the height of human felicity. Now swings and
fire-works are Arabic for bread and circuses, and our pleb's
passion for them is insatiable. He not only indulges in
them upon every occasion of public rejoicing, but calls in
their aid to celebrate the most solemn festivals of his
religion. It so happened that we afterward came in the
way of several Mohammedan festivals both in Egypt and
Syria, and we invariably found the swings at work all day
and the fire-works going off every evening.

To-day the swings outside the Bab en-Nasr were never
idle. Here were creaking Russian swings hung with little

22 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE.

painted chariots for the children; and plain rope swings,
some of them as high as Hainan's gallows, for the men.
For my own part, I know no sight more comic and incon-
gruous than the serene enjoyment with which a bearded,
turbaned, middle-aged Egyptian squats upon his heels on
the tiny wooden seat of one of these enormous swings, and,
holding on to the side-ropes for dear life, goes careering up
forty feet high into the air at every turn.

At a little before midday, when the heat and glare were
becoming intolerable, the swings suddenly ceased going,
the crowd surged in the direction of the gate, and a distant
drumming announced the approach of the procession.
First came a string of baggage-camels laden with tent fur-
niture; then some two hundred pilgrims on foot, chanting
passages from the Koran; then a regiment of Egyptian in-
fantry, the men in a coarse white linen uniform, consisting
of coat, baggy trousers and gaiters, with cross-belts and
cartouche-boxes of plain black leather, and the red fez, or
tarboosh, on the head. Next after these came more pil-
grims, followed by a body of dervishes carrying green ban-
ners embroidered with Arabic sentences in white and yel-
low; then a native cavalry regiment headed by a general
and four colonels in magnificent gold embroidery and pre-
ceded by an excellent military band; then another band
and a second regiment of infantry; then more colonels,
followed by a regiment of lancers mounted on capital gray
horses and carrying lances topped with small red and
green pennants. After these had gone by there was a long
stoppage, and then, with endless breaks and interruptions,
came a straggling, irregular crowd of pilgrims, chiefly of
the fellah class, beating small darabukkehs, or native
drums. Those about us estimated their number at two
thousand. And now, their guttural chorus audible long
before they arrived in sight, came the howling dervishes —
a ragged, wild-looking, ruffianly set, rolling their heads
from side to side, and keeping up a hoarse, incessant cry
of " Allah! Allah! Allah!" Of these there may have been
a couple of hundred. The sheiks of the principal order
of dervishes came next in order, superbly dressed in robes
of brilliant colors embroidered with gold and mounted on
magnificent Arabs. Finest of all, in a green turban and
scarlet mantle, rode the Sheik of Hasaneyn, who is a de-
scendant of the prophet; but the most important, the

CAIRO AND THIS MECCA PILGRIMAGE. ;>:)

Sheik el Bekree, who is a, sort of Egyptian Archbishop
of Canterbury, and head of all the dervishes, came last,
riding a white Arab with gold-embroidered housings, lie
was a placid-looking old man, and wore a violet robe and
an enormous red and green turban.

This very reverend personage was closely followed by the
chief of the carpet-makers' guild — a handsome man, sitting
sidewise on a camel.

Then happened another break in the procession —
an eager pause — a gathering murmur. And then,
riding a gaunt dromedary at a rapid trot, his fat
sides shaking and his head rolling in a drunken way
at every step, appeared a bloated, half-naked Silenus,
with long fuzzy black locks and triple chin, and no
other clothing than a pair of short white drawers and
red slippers. A shiver of delight ran through the crowd
at sight of this holy man — the famous Sheik of the
Camel (Sheik el-Gemel), the " great, good priest" — the
idol of the people. We afterward learned that this was
his twentieth pilgrimage, and that he was supposed to fast,
roll his head and wear nothing but this pair of loose drawers
all the way to and from Mecca.

But the crowning excitement was yet to come and the
rapture witli which the crowd had greeted the Sheik el-
Gemel was as nothing compared with their ecstasy when
the mahmal, preceded by another group of mounted officers
and borne by a gigantic camel, was seen coming through the
gateway. The women held up their children; the men
swarmed up the scaffoldings of the swings and behind
the carriages. They screamed, they shouted, they waved
handkerchiefs and turbans; they were beside themselves with
excitement. Meanwhile the camel, as if conscious of the
dignity of his position and the splendor of his trappings,
came on slowly and ponderously with his nose in the air,
and passed close before our horses' heads. We could not
possibly have had better view of the mahmal; which is
nothing but a sort of cage, or pagoda, of gilded tracery
very richly decorated. In the days of the Memlooks, the
mahmal represented the litter of the sultan, and went
empty, like a royal carriage at the public funeral;* but we

* " It is related that the Sultan Ez-Zahir Bey bars. King of Egypt,
was the first who sent a mahmal with the caravan of pilgrims to
Mecca, in the year of the flight 670 (a. d. 1272) or 675; but this

24 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

were told that it now carried the tribute-carpet sent
annually by the carpet-makers of Cairo to the tomb of the
prophet.

This closed the procession. As the camel passed, the
crowd surged in, and everything like order was at an end.
The carriages all made at once for the gate, so meeting the
full tide of the outpouring crowd and causing unimagin-
able confusion. Some stuck in the sand half-way — our
own among the number; and all got into an inextricable
block in the narrow part just inside the gate. Hereupon
the drivers abused each other and the crowd got impatient,
and some Europeans got pelted.

Coming back, we met two or three more regiments.
The men, both horse and foot, seemed fair average speci-
mens, and creditably disciplined. They rode better than
they marched, which was to be expected. The uniform is
the same for cavalry and infantry throughout the service;
the only difference being that the former wear short black
riding-boots, and the latter, zouave gaiters of white linen.
They are officered up to a certain point by Egyptians; but
the commanding officers and the staff (among whom are
enough colonels and generals to form an ordinary regiment)
are chiefly Europeans and Americans.

It had seemed, while the procession was passing, that
the proportion of pilgrims was absurdly small when com-
pared with the display of military; but this, which is
called the departure of the caravan, is in truth only the
procession of the sacred carpet from Cairo to the camp
outside the walls; and the troops are present merely as
part of the pageant. The true departure takes place two
days later. The pilgrims then muster in great numbers;
but the soldiery is reduced to a small escort. It was said

custom, it is generally said, had its origin a few years before his
accession to the throne. Shegered-Durr, a beautiul Turkish female
slave who became the favorite wife of the Sultan Es-Saleh Negm-ed-
Deen, and on the death of his son (with whom terminated the dynasty
of the house of the Eiyoob) caused herself to be acknowledged as
Queen of Egypt, performed the pilgrimage in a magnificent 'bodag,'
or covered litter, borne by a camel; and for several successive years
her empty ' hodag ' was sent with the caravan, merely for the sake
of state. ' Hence,"succeeding princes of Egypt sent with each year's
caravan of pilgrims a kind of 'hodag' (which received the name of
mahmal) as an emblem of royalty." — "The Modern Egyptians," by E.
W. Lane, chap, xxiv, London, 1860.

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 25

that seven thousand souls went out this year from Cairo
and its neighborhood.

The procession took place on Thursday, the 21st clay of
the Mohammedan month of Showwal, which was our 11th
of December. The next day, Friday, being the Moham-
medan Sabbath, we went to the convent of the Howling
Dervishes, which lies beyond the walls in a quiet nook
between the river side and the part known as old Cairo.

We arrived a little after two, and passing through a
court-yard shaded by a great sycamore were ushered into a
large, square, whitewashed hall with a dome roof and a
neatly matted floor. The place in its arrangements resem-
bled none of the mosques that we had yet seen. There
was, indeed, nothing to arrange — no pulpit, no holy niche,
no lamps, no prayer-carpets; nothing but a row of cane-
bottomed chairs at one end, some of which were already
occupied by certain of our fellow-guests at Shepheard's
Hotel. A party of some forty or fifty wild-looking
dervishes were squatting in a circle at the opposite side of
the hall, their outer kuftans and queer pyramidal hats
lying in a heap close by.

Being: accommodated with chairs among the other
spectators, we waited for whatever might happen. More
deverishes and more English dropped in from time to
time. The new dervishes took off their caps and sat down
among the rest, laughing and talking together at their
ease. The English sat in a row, shy, uncomfortable, and
silent; wondering whether they ought to behave as if they
were in church, and mortally ashamed of their feet. For
we had all been obliged to take off or cover our boots
before going in, and those who had forgotten to bring
slippers had their feet tied up in pocket handkerchiefs.

A long time went by thus. At last, when the number
of dervishes had increased to about seventy, and every one
was tired of waiting, eight musicians came in — two trum-
pets, two lutes, a cocoanut fiddle, a tambourine, and two
drums. Then the dervishes, some of whom were old and
white haired and some mere boys, formed themselves into
a great circle, shoulder to shoulder; the band struck up a
plaintive, discordant air; and a grave middle aged man,
placing himself in the center of the ring and inclining his
head at each repetition, began to recite the name of Allah.

Softly at first, and one by one, the dervishes took up the

26 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

chant: "Allah! Allah! Allah!" Their heads and their
voices rose and fell in unison. The dome above gave back
a hollow echo. There was something strange and solemn
in the ceremony.

Presently, however, the trumpets brayed louder — the
voices grew hoarser — the heads bowed lower — the name of
Allah rang out faster and faster, fiercer and fiercer. The
leader, himself cool and collected, began sensibly accelerat-
ing the time of the chorus; and it became evident that the
performers were possessed by a growing frenzy. Soon the
whole circle was madly rocking to and fro; the voices rose
to a hoarse scream; and only the trumpets were audible
above the din. Now and then a dervish would spring up
convulsively some three or four feet above the heads of the
others; but for the most part they stood firmly rooted to
one spot — now bowing their heads almost to their feet —
now flinging themselves so violently back that we, stand-
ing behind, could see their faces foreshortened upside
down; and this with such incredible rapidity that their
long hair had scarcely time either to rise or fall, but
remained as if suspended in mid-air. Still the frenzy
mounted; still the pace quickened. Some shrieked — some
groaned — some, unable to support themselves any longer,
were held up in their places by the by-standers. All were
mad for the time being. Our own heads seemed to be
going round at last ; and more than one of the ladies
present looked longingly toward the door. It was, in
truth, a horrible sight, and needed only darkness and torch-
light to be quite diabolical.

At length, just as the fury was at its height and the
very building seemed to be rocking to and fro above our
heads, one poor wretch staggered out of the circle and fell,
writhing and shrieking, close against our feet. At the
same moment the leader clapped his hands ; the perform-
ers, panting and exhausted, dropped into a sitting posture;
and the first zikr, as it is called, came abruptly to an end.
Some few, however, could not stop immediately, but kept
on swaying and muttering to themselves; while the one in
the fit having ceased to shriek, lay out stiff and straight,
apparently in a state of coma.

There was a murmur of relief and a simultaneous rising
among the spectators. It was announced that another
zikr, with a re-enforcement of fresh dervishes, would soon

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 27

begin; but the Europeans had had enough of it, and few
remained for the second performance.

Going out we paused beside the poor fellow on the floor,
and asked if nothing could be done for him.

" He is struck by Mohammed/' said gravely an Egyptian
official who wsis standing by.

At that moment the leader came over, knelt down beside
him, touched him lightly on the head and breast, and
whispered something in his ear. The man was then quite
rigid and white as death. We waited, however, and after
a few more minutes saw him struggle back into a dazed,
half-conscious state, when he was helped to his feet and
led away by his friends.

The court-yard as we came out was full of dervishes sit-
ting on cane benches in the shade and sipping coffee.
The green leaves rustled overhead with glimpses of in-
tensely blue sky between ; and brilliant patches of sun-
shine flickered down upon groups of wild-looking, half-
savage figures in party-colored garments. It. was one of
those ready-made subjects that the sketcher passes by with
a sigh, but which live in his memory forever.

From hence, being within a few minutes' drive of old
Cairo, we went on as far as the Mosque of Amr — an unin-
teresting ruin stands alone among the rubbish-mounds of
the first Mohammedan capital of Egypt. It is constructed
on the plan of a single quadrangle two hundred and
twenty-five feet square, surrounded by a covered col-
onnade one range of pillars in depth on the west
(which is the side of the entrance); four on the north;
three on the south; and six on the east, which is the
place of prayer, and contains three holy niches and
the pulpit. The columns, two hundred and forty-five
in number, have been brought from earlier Roman
and Byzantine buildings. They are of various mar-
bles and have all kinds of capitals. Some being
originally too short, have been stilted on dispropor-
tionately high bases; and in one instance the neces-
sary height has been obtained by adding a second capital on
the top of the first. "We observed one column of that rare
black and white speckled marble of which there is a speci-
men in the pulpit of St. Mark's in Venice; and one of the
holy niches contains some fragments of Byzantine mosaics.
But the whole building seems to have been put together in

28 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

a barbarous way, and would appear to owe its present state
of dilapidation more to bad workmanship than to time.
Many of the pillars, especially on tbe western side, are
fallen and broken; the octagonal fountain in the center is a
roofless ruin; and the little minaret at the southeast cor-
ner is no longer safe.

Apart, however, from its poverty of design and detail,
the Mosque of Arar is interesting as a point of departure
in the history of Saracenic architecture. It was built by
Amr Ebn el-As, the Arab conqueror of Egypt, in the
twenty-first year of the hegira (a.d. 642), just ten years
after the death of Mohammed; and it is the earliest Sara-
cenic edifice in Egypt. We were glad, therefore, to have
seen it for this reason, if for no other. But it is a barren,
dreary place; and the glare reflected from all sides of the
quadrangle was so intense that we were thankful to get
away into the narrow streets beside the river.

Here we presently fell in with a wedding procession con-
sisting of a crowd of men, a band, and some three or four
hired carriages full of veiled women, one of whom was pointed
out as the bride. The bridegroom walked in the midst of
the men, who seemed to be teasing him, drumming round
him, and opposing his progress; while high above the
laughter, the shouting, the jingle of tambourines and the
thrumming of darabukkehs, was heard the shrill squeal of
some instrument that sounded exactly like a bagpipe.

It was a brilliant afternoon, and we ended our day's
work, I remember, with a drive on the Shubra road and a
glance at the gardens of the khedive's summer palace.
The Shubra road is the Champs Elysees of Cairo, and is
thronged every day from four to half-past six. Here little
sheds of roadside cafes alternate with smart modern villas;
ragged fellaheen on jaded donkeys trot side by side with
elegant attaches on high-stepping Arabs; while tourists in
hired carriages, Jew bankers in unexceptionable phaetons,
veiled hareems in London built broughams, Italian shop-
keepers in preposterously fashionable toilets, grave
sheiks on magnificent Cairo asses, officers in frogged and
braided frocks, and English girls in tall hats and close-fit-
ting habits, followed by the inevitable little solemn-looking
English groom, pass and repass, precede and follow each
other, in one changing, restless, heterogeneous stream,
the like of which is to be seen in no other capital in the

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 29

world. The sons of the khedive drive here daily, always
in separate carriages and preceded by four saises and four
guards. They are of all ages and sizes, from the heredi-
tary prince, a pale, gentlemanly looking young man of
four or five and twenty, down to one tiny, imperious atom
of about six, who is dressed like a little man, and is con-
stantly leaning out of the carriage window and shrilly
abusing his coachman.*

Apart however, from those who frequent it, the Shubra
road is a really fine drive, broad, level, raised some six or
eight feet above the cultivated plain, closely planted on both
sides with acacias and sycamore fig trees, and reaching
straight away for four miles out of Cairo, counting from
the railway terminus to the summer palace. The carriage-
way is about as wide as the road across Hyde Park which
connects Bayswater with Kensington; and toward the Shu-
bra end, it runs close beside the Nile. "Many of the syca-
mores are of great size and quite patriarchal girth. Their
branches meet overhead nearly all the way, weaving a de-
licious shade and making a cool green tunnel of the long
perspective.

We did not stay long in the khedive's gardens, for it
was already getting late when we reached the gates; but
we went far enough to see that they were tolerably well
kept, not over formal and laid out with a view to masses
of foliage, shady paths and spaces of turf inlaid with
flower-beds, after the style of the famous Sarntheim and
Moser gardens at Botzen in the Tyrol. Here are sont
trees {Acacia Kilotica) of unusual size, powdered all over
with little feathery tufts of yellow blossom ; orange and
lemon trees in abundance; heaps of little green limes;
bananas bearing heavy pendent bunches of ripe fruit; Mind-
ing thickets of pomegranates, oleanders and salvias; and
great beds and banks and trellised walks of roses. Among
these, however, I observed none of the rarer varieties. As
for the pointsettia, it grows in Egypt to a height of twenty
feet, and bears blossoms of such size and color as we in
England can form no idea of. We saw large trees of it
both here and at Alexandria that seemed as if bending be-
neath a mantle of crimson stars, some of which cannot
have measured less than twenty-two inches in diameter.

* The hereditary prince, it need scarcely be said, is the present
khedive, Tewfik Pasha. [Note to second edition.]

30 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

A large Italian fountain, in a rococo style, is the great
sight of the place. We caught a glimpse of it through the
trees, and surprised the gardener who was showing us over
by declining to inspect it more nearly. He could not un-
derstand why we preferred to give our time to the shrubs
and flower-beds.

Driving back presently toward Cairo with a big handful
of roses apiece, we saw the sun going down in an aureole
of fleecy pink and golden clouds, the Nile flowing by like a
stream of liquid light, and a little fleet of sailing boats
going up to Boulak before a paff of north wind that had
sprung up as the sun neared the horizon. That puff of
north wind, those gliding sails, had a keen interest for us
now and touched us nearly; because — I have delayed this
momentous revelation till the last moment — because we
were to start to-morrow!

And this is why I have been able, in the midst of so
much that was new and bewildering, to remember quite
circumstantially the dates and all the events connected with
these last two days. They were to be our last two days in
Cairo; and to morrow morning, Saturday, the 13th of De-
cember, we were to go on board a certain dahabeeyah now
lying off the iron bridge at Boulak, therein to begin that
strange aquatic life to which we had been looking forward
with so many hopes and fears, and toward which we
had been steering through so many preliminary difficulties.

But the difficulties were all over now and everything
was settled; though not in the way we had at first intended.
For, in place of a small boat, we had secured one of the
largest on the river; and instead of going alone we had
decided to throw in our lot with that of three other
travelers. One of these three was already known to the
writer. The other two, friends of the first, were on their
way out from Europe and were not expected in Cairo for
another week. We knew nothing of them but their
names.

Meanwhile L — — and the writer, assuming sole posses-
sion of the dahabeeyah, were about to start ten days in ad-
vance; it being their intention to push on as far as Khoda
(the ultimate point then reached by the Nile railway), and
there to await the arrival of the rest of the party. Xow
Rhoda (more correctly Roda) is just one hundred and
eighty miles south of Cairo, and we calculated upon seeing

CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 31

the Sakkdrah pyramids, the Turra quarries, the tombs of
Beni Hassan, and the famous grotto of the Colossus on
the Sledge, before our fellow-travelers should be clue.

" It depends on the wind, you know," said our dragoman,
with a lugubrious smile.

We knew that it depended on the wind; but what then?
In Egypt the wind is supposed always to blow from the
north at this time of the year, and we had ten good days
at our disposal. The observation was clearly irrelevant.

32 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER III.

CAIEO TO BEDRESHAYN.

A rapid raid into some of the nearest shops for things
remembered at the last moment — a breathless gathering up
of innumerable parcels — a few hurried farewells on the
steps of the hotel — and away we rattle as fast as a pair of
raw-boned grays can carry us. For this morning every
moment is of value. We are already late ; we expect
visitors to luncheon on board at midday; and we are to
weigh anchor at two p. m. Hence our anxiety to reach
Boulak before the bridge is opened, that we may drive
across to the western bank, against which our dahabeeyah
lies moored. Hence, also, our mortification when we arrive
just in time to see the bridge swing apart and the first
tall mast glide through.

Presently, however, when those on the look-out have
observed our signals of distress, a smart-looking sandal, or
jolly-boat, decked with gay rugs and cushions, manned by
five smiling Arabs, and flying a bright little new union
jack, comes swiftly threading its way in and out among
the lumbering barges now crowding through the bridge.
In a few more minutes we are afloat. For this is our
sandal and these are five of our crew; and of the three
dahabeeyahs moored over yonder in the shade of the palms
the biggest by far, and the trimmest, is our dear, memo-
rable Philas.

Close behind the Pliilae lies the Bagstones, a neat
little dahabeeyah in the occupation of two English ladies
who chanced to cross with us in the Simla from Brin-
disi, and of whom we have seen so much ever since that
we regard them by this time as quite old friends in a
strange land. I will call them the M. B.'s. The other
boat, lying off a few yards ahead, carries the tri-color, and
is chartered by a party of French gentlemen. All three
are to sail to-day.

CAIRO TO BEDRESUA YN. 33

And now we are on board and have shaken hands with
the captain and are as busy as bees; for there are cabins to
put in order, flowers to arrange, and a hundred little
things to be seen to before the guests arrive. It is wonder-
ful, however, what a few books and roses, an open piano,
and a sketch or two will do. In a few minutes the com-
fortless hired look has vanished, and long enough before
the first comers are announced the Phila? wears an aspect
as cozy and home-like as if she had been occupied for a
month.

As for the luncheon, it certainly surprised the givers of
the entertainment quite as much as it must have surprised
their guests. Being, no doubt, a pre-arranged display of
professional pride on the part of dragoman and cook, it
was more like an excessive Christmas dinner than a modest
midday meal. We sat through it unflinchingly, however,
for about an hour and three quarters, when a startling dis-
charge of firearms sent us all running upon deck and
created a wholesome diversion in our favor. It was the
French boat signaling her departure, shaking out her big
sail, and going off triumphantly.

I fear that we of the Bagstones and Philas — being mere
mortals and Englishwomen — could not help feeling just a
little spiteful when we found the tri-color had started first;
but then it was a consolation to know that the Frenchmen
were going only to Assuan. Such is the esprit (hi Nil.
The people in dahabeeyahs despise Cook's tourists; those
who are bound for the second cataract look down with
lofty compassion upon those whose ambition extends only
to the first; and travelers who engage their boat by the
month hold their heads a trifle higher than those who con-
tract for the trip. We, who were going as far as we liked
and for as long as we liked, could afford to be mag-
nanimous. So we forgave the Frenchmen, went down
again to the saloon, and had coffee and music.

It wTas nearly three o'clock when our Cairo visitors wished
us "bon voyage "and good-by. Then the M. B.'s, who,
with their nephew, had been of the party, went back to
their own boat ; and both captains prepared to sail at a
given signal. For the M. B.'s had entered into a solemn
convention to start with us, moor with us, and keep with
us, if practicable, all the way up the river. It is pleasant
now to remember that this sociable compact, instead of

34 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

falling through as such compacts are wont to do, was quite
literally carried out as far as Aboo Simbel ; that is to say,
during a period of seven weeks' hard going and for a dis-
tance of upward of eight hundred miles.

At last all is ready. The awning that has all day roofed
in the upper deck is taken down ; the captain stands at
the head of the steps; the steersman is at the helm; the
dragoman has loaded his musket. Is the Bagstones ready?
We wave a handkerchief of inquiry — the signal is answered
— the mooring ropes are loosened — the sailors pole the boat
off from the bank — bang go the guns, six from the Philaj
and six from the Bagstones, and away we go, our huge sail
filling as it takes the wind !

Happy are the Xile travelers who start thus with a fair
breeze on a brilliant afternoon. The good boat cleaves her
way swiftly and steadily. "Water-side palaces and gardens
glide by and are left behind. The domes and minarets of
Cairo drop quickly out of sight. The mosque of the cita-
del and the ruined fort that looks down upon it from the
mountain ridge above diminish in the distance. The
pyramids stand up sharp and clear.

We sit on the high upper deck, which is furnished with
lounge-chairs, tables and foreign rugs, like a drawing-
room in the open air, and enjoy the prospect at our ease.
The valley is wide here and the banks are flat, showing a
steep verge of crumbling alluvial mud next the river.
Long belts of palm groves, tracts of young corn only an
inch or two above the surface, and clusters of mud huts,
relieved now and then by a little wThitewrashed cupola or a
stumpy minaret, succeed each other on both sides of the
river, while the horizon is bounded to right and left by
long ranges of yellow limestone mountains, in the folds of
which sleep inexpressibly tender shadows of pale violet
and blue.

Thus the miles glide away, and by and by we approach
Turra — a large, new-looking mud village, and the first of
any extent that we have yet seen. Some of the houses are
whitewashed; a few have glass windows, and many seem to
be unfinished. A space of wdiite, stony, glaring plain sep-
arates the village from the quarried mountains beyond, the
flanks of which show all gashed and hewn away. One
great cliff seems to have been cut sheer off for a distance of
perhaps half a mile. Where the cuttings are fresh the

CAIRO TO BEDBESHA TN. 35

limestone comes out dazzling white and the long slopes of
debris heaped against the foot of the cliffs glisten like
snow-drifts in the sun. Yet the outer surface of the
mountains is orange-tawny, like the pyramids. As for the
piles of rough hewn blocks that lie ranged along the bank
ready for transport, they look like salt rather than stone.
Here lies moored a whole fleet of cargo boats, laden and
lading ; and along the tramway that extends from the
river side to the quarries we see long trains of mule-carts
coming and going.

For all the new buildings in Cairo, the khedive's pal-
aces, the public offices, the smart modern villas, the glar-
ing new streets, the theaters and foot pavements and cafes,
all come from these mountains— -just as the pyramids did
more than six thousand years ago. There are hieroglyphed
tablets and sculptured grottoes to be seen in the most
ancient part of the quarries, if one were inclined to stop
for them at this early stage of the journey; and Champol-
lion tells of two magnificent outlines done in red ink upon
the living rock by some master hand of Pharaonic times,
the cutting of which was never even begun. A substantial
new barrack and an esplanade planted with sycamore figs
bring the straggling village to an end.

And now, as the afternoon wanes, we draw near to a
dense, wide-spreading forest of stately date-palms on the
western bank, knowing that beyond them, though unseen,
lie the mounds of Memphis and all the wonders of Sak-
karah. Then the sun goes down behind the Libyan hills;
and the palms stand out black and bronzed against a golden
sky ; and the pyramids, left far behind, look gray and
ghostly in the distance.

Presently, when it is quite dusk and the stars are out, we
moor for the night at Bedreshayn, which is the nearest
point for visiting Sakkarah. There is a railway station
here, and also a considerable village, both lying back about
half a mile from the river; and the distance from Cairo,
which is reckoned at fifteen miles by the line, is probably
about eighteen by water.

Such was our first day on the Nile. And perhaps,
before going farther on our way, I ought to describe the
Phila? and introduce Rei's Hassan and his crew.

A dahabeeyah, at the first glance, is more like a civic or
an Oxford University barge, than anything in the shape of

36 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

a boat with which we in England are familiar. It is
shallow and flat-bottomed, and is adapted for either sailing
or rowing. It carries two masts; a big one near the prow
and a smaller one at the stern. The cabins are on deck
and occupy the after-part of the vessel; and the roof of the
cabins forms the raised deck, or open-air drawing-room
already mentioned. This upper deck is reached from the
lower deck by two little flights of steps, and is the exclu-
sive territory of the passengers. The lower deck is the
territory of the crew. A dahabeeyah is, in fact, not very
nnlike the Noah's ark of our childhood, with this differ-
ence— the habitable part, instead of occupying the middle
of the vessel, is all at one end, top heavy and many-win-
dowed; while the fore-deck is not more than six feet above
the level of the water. The hold, however, is under the
lower deck, and so counterbalances the weight at the other
end. Not to multiply comparisons unnecessarily, I may
say that a large dahabeeyah reminds one of old pictures of
the Bucentaur; especially when the men are at their oars.

The kitchen — which is a mere shed like a Dutch oven in
shape, and contains only a charcoal stove and a row of
stew-pans — stands between the big mast and the prow,
removed as far as possible from the passengers' cabins. In
this position the cook is protected from a favorable wind
by his shed ; but in the case of a contrary wind he is
screened by an awning. How, under even the most favor-
able circumstances, these men can serve up the elaborate
dinners which are the pride of a Nile cook's heart, is suf-
ficiently wonderful; but how they achieve the same results
when wind-storms and sand-storms are blowing and every
breath is laden with the fine grit of the desert, is little
short of miraculous.

Thus far, all dahabeeyahs are alike. The cabin arrange-
ments differ, however, according to the size of the boat ;
and it must be remembered that in describing the Philas I
describe a dahabeeyah of the largest build — her total
length from stem to stern being just one hundred feet,
and the width of her upper deck at the broadest j)art little
short of twenty.

Our floor being on a somewhat lower level than the
men's deck, we went down three steps to the entrance
door, on each side of which was an external cupboard, one
serving as a store- room and the other as a pantry. This

CAIRO TO BEDRESIIATN. 37

door led into a passage out of which opened four sleeping-
cabins, two on each side. These cabins measured about
eight feet in length by four and a half in width, and con-
tained a bed, a chair, a fixed washing stand, a looking-
glass against the wall, a shelf, a row of hooks, and under
each bed two large drawers for clothes. At the end of
this little passage another door opened into the dining-
saloon — a spacious, cheerful room, some twent}r-three or
twenty-four feet long, situated in the widest part of the
boat, and lighted by four windows on each side and a sky-
light. The paneled walls and ceiling were painted in
white picked out with gold ; a cushioned divan covered
with a smart woolen reps ran along each side ; and a gay
Brussels carpet adorned the floor. The diniug-table stood
in the center of the room, and there was ample space for a
piano, two little book-cases, and several chairs. The win-
dow-curtains and portieres were of the same reps as the
divan, the prevailing colors being scarlet and orange. Add
a couple of mirrors in gilt frames; a vase of flowers on the
table (for we were rarely without flowers of some sort,
even in Nubia, where our daily bouquet had to be made
with a few bean blossoms and castor-oil berries); plenty of
books; the gentlemen's guns and sticks in one corner; and
the hats of all the party hanging in the spaces between the
windows, and it will be easy to realize the homely, habitable
look of our general sitting-room.

Another door and passage opening from the upper end
of the saloon led to three more sleeping-rooms, two of
which were single and one double; a bath-room; a tiny
back staircase leading to the upper deck ; and the stern-
cabin saloon. This last, following the form of the stern,
was semicircular, lighted by eight windows, and sur-
rounded by a divan. Under this, as under the saloon
divans, there ran a row of deep drawers, which, being
fairly divided, held our clothes, wine, and books. The
entire length of the dahabeeyah being exactly one hun-
dred feet, I take the cabin part to have occupied about
fifty-six or fifty-seven feet (that is to say, about six or
seven feet over the exact half), and the lower deck to have
measured the remaining forty-three feet. But these
dimensions, being given from memory, are approximate.

For the crew there was no sleeping accommodation what-
ever, unless they chose to creep into the hold among the

38 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

luggage and packing-cases. But this they never did.
They just rolled themselves up at night, heads and all, in
rough brown blankets, and lay about the lower deck like
dogs.

The reis, or captain, the steersman, and twelve sailors,
the dragoman, head cook, assistant cook, two waiters, and
the boy who cooked for the crew, completed our equip-
ment. Eeis Hassan — short, stern-looking, authoritative—
was a Cairo Arab. The dragoman, Elias Talhamy, wras a
Syrian of Beyrout. The two waiters, Michael and Habib,
and the head cook (a wizened old cordon Men named
Hassan Bedawee) were also Syrians. The steersman and
five of the sailors were from Thebes; four belonged to a
place near Philae; one came from a village opposite Kom
Ombo ; one from Cairo, and two were Nubians from
Assuan. They were of all shades, from yellowish bronze
to a hue not far removed from black; and though, at the
first mention of it, nothing more incongruous can well be
imagined than a sailor in petticoats and a turban, yet
these men in their loose blue gowns, bare feet, and white
muslin turbans, looked not only picturesque but dressed
exactly as they should be. They were for the most part
fine young men, slender but powerful, square in the
shoulders, like the ancient Egyptian statues, with the same
slight legs and long, flat feet. More docile, active, good-
tempered, friendly fellows never pulled an oar. Simple
and trustful as children, frugal as anchorites, they worked
cheerfully from sunrise to sunset, sometimes towing the
dahabeeyah on a rope all day long, like barge-horses; some-
times punting for hours, which is the hardest work of all;
yet always singing at their task, always smiling when
spoken to, and made as happy as princes with a handful of
coarse Egyptian tobacco, or a bundle of fresh sugar-canes
bought for a few pence by the river side. We soon came
to know them all by name — Mehemet Ali, Salarne,
Khalifeh, Riskali, Hassan, Miisa, and so on; and as none
of us ever went on shore without one or two of them to
act as guards and attendants, and as the poor fellows were
constantly getting bruised hands or feet and coming to
the upper deck to be doctored, a feeling of genuine friend-
liness was speedily established between us.

The ordinary pay of a Nile sailor is two pounds a month,
with an additional allowance of about three and sixpence a

CAIRO TO BEDREHIIAYN. 39

month for flour. Broad is their staple food, and they
make it themselves at certain places along the river where
there are large public ovens for the purpose. This bread,
which is cut up in slices and dried in the sun, is as brown
as gingerbread and as hard as biscuit. They eat it soaked
in hot water, flavored with oil, pepper and salt, and
stirred in with boiled lentils till the whole becomes of the
color, flavor, and consistence of thick pea soup. Except
on grand occasions, such as Christmas day or the anniver-
sary of the flight of the prophet, when the passengers
treat them to a sheep, this mess of bread and lentils, with
a little coffee twice a day,, and now and then a handful of
dates, constitutes their only food throughout the journey.

The Nile season is the Nile sailors' harvest time. When
the warm weather sets in and the travelers migrate with
the swallows, these poor fellows disperse in all directions;
some to seek a living as porters in Cairo; others to their
homes in Middle and Upper Egypt, where, for about four-
pence a day, they take hire as laborers, or work at Shaduf
irrigation till the Nile again overspreads the land. The
Shaduf work is hard, and a man has to keep on for nine
hours out of every twenty-four ; but he prefers it, for the
most part, to employment in the government sugar fac-
tories, where the wages average at about the same rate, but
are paid in bread, which, being doled out by unscrupulous
inferiors, is too often of light weight and bad quality. The
sailors who succeed in getting a berth on board a cargo-
boat for the summer are the most fortunate.

Our captain, pilot, and crew were all Mohammedans.
The cook and his assistant were Syrian Mohammedans. The
dragoman and waiters were Christians of the Syrian Latin
church. Only one out of the fifteen natives could write or
read; and that one was a sailor named Egendi, who acted
as a sort of second mate. He used sometimes to write let-
ters for the others, holding a scrap of tumbled paper across
the palm of his left hand, and scrawling rude Arabic char-
acters with a reed pen of his own making. This Egendi,
though perhaps the least interesting of the crew, was a
man of many accomplishments — an excellent comic actor,
a bit of a shoemaker, and a first-rate barber. More than
once, when we happened to be stationed far from any vil-
lage, he shaved his messmates all round and turned them
out with heads as smooth as billiard balls.

40 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

There are, of course, good and bad Mohammedans as
there are good and bad churchmen of every denomination;
and we had both sorts on board. Some of the men were
very devout, never failing to perform their ablutions and
say their prayers at sunrise and sunset. Others never
dreamed of doing so. Some would not touch wine — had
never tasted it in their lives, and would have suffered any
extremity rather than break the law of their prophet.
Others had a nice taste in clarets and a delicate apprecia-
tion of the respective merits of rum or whisky punch. It
is, however,, only fair to add that we never gave them
these things except on special occasions, as on Christmas
day, or when they had been wading in the river, or in
some other way undergoing extra fatigue in our service.
Nor do I believe there was a man on board who would
have spent a para of his scanty earnings on any drink
stronger than coffee. Coffee and tobacco are, indeed, the
only luxuries in which the Egyptian peasant indulges;
and our poor fellows were never more grateful than when
we distributed among them a few pounds of cheap native
tobacco. This abominable mixture sells in the bazaars at
sixpence the pound,, the plant from which it is gathered
being raised from inferior seed in a soil chemically unsuit-
able, because wholly devoid of potash.

Also it is systematically spoiled in the growing. Instead
of being nipped off when green and dried in the shade,
the leaves are allowed to wither on the stalk before they
are gathered. The result is a kind of rank hay without
strength or flavor, which is smoked by only the very poor-
est class, and carefully avoided by all who can afford to buy
Turkish or Syrian tobacco.

Twice a day, after their midday and evening meals, our
sailors were wont to sit in a circle and solemnly smoke a
certain big pipe of the kind known as a hubble-bubble.
This hubble-bubble (which was of most primitive make
and consisted of a cocoanut and two sugar-canes) was
common property; and, being filled by the captain, went
round from hand to hand, from mouth to mouth, while it
lasted.

They smoked cigarettes at other times, and seldom went
on shore without a tobacco-pouch and a tiny book of
cigarette-papers. Fancy a bare-legged Arab making cigar-
ettes ! No Frenchman, however, could twist them up
more deftly or smoke them w:th a better grace.

CAIRO TO BKDRES11ATN. 41

A Nile sailor's service expires with the season, so that he
is generally a landsman for about half the year; but the
captain's appointment is permanent. He is expected to
live in Cairo, and is responsible for his dahabeeyah during
the summer months, while it lies up at Boulak. Rei's
Hassan had a wife and a comfortable little home on the
outskirts of old Cairo, and was looked upon as a well-to-
do personage among his fellows. He received four pounds
a month all the year round from the owner of the Philae —
a magnificent broad-shouldered Arab of about six foot
nine, with a delightful smile, the manners of a gentleman,
and the rapacity of a Shylock.

Our men treated us to a concert that first night, as we
lay moored under the bank near Bedreshayn. Being told
that it was customary to provide musical instruments, we
had given them leave to buy a tar and darabukkeh before
starting. The tar, or tambourine, was pretty enough, being
made of rosewood inlaid with mother-of-pearl; but a more
barbarous affair than the darabukkeh was surely never con-
structed. This primitive drum is about a foot and a half
in length, funnel-shaped, molded of sun-dried clay like
the kullehs, and covered over the top with strained parch-
ment. It is held under the left arm and played like atom-
torn with the fingers of the right hand; and it weighs
about four pounds. We would willingly have added a
double pipe or a cocoanut fiddle* to the strength of the band
but none of our men could play them. The tar and dara-
bukkeh, however, answered the purpose well enough, and
were perhaps better suited to their strange singing than
more tuneful instruments.

We had just finished dinner when they began. First
came a prolonged wail that swelled, and sank, and swelled
again, and at last died away. This was the principal singer
leading off with the keynote. The next followed suit on
the third of the key ; and finally all united in one long,
shrill, descending cry, like a yawn, or a howl, or a combi-
nation of both. This, twice repeated, preluded their per-
formance and worked them up, apparently, to the necessary
pitch of musical enthusiasm. The primo tenore then led
off in a quavering roulade, at the end of which he slid into
a melancholy chant, to which the rest sang chorus. At the

* Arabic — Kerne ngeli.

42 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

close of each verse they yawned and howled again; while the
singer, carried away by his emotions, broke out every now
and then into a repetition of the same amazing and utterly
indescribable vocal wriggle with which he had begun. When-
ever he did this, the rest held their breath in respectful
admiration and uttered an approving "Ah ! ' — which is
here the customary expression of applause.

We thought their music horrible that first night, I
remember; though we ended, as I believe most travelers
do, by liking it. We, however, paid them the compliment
of going upon deck and listening to their performance.
As a night-scene, nothing could be more picturesque than
this group of turbaned Arabs sitting in a circle, cross-
legged, with a lantern in their midst. The singer quavered;
the musicians thrummed; the rest softly clapped their
hands to time and waited their turn to chime in with the
chorus. Meanwhile the lantern lit up their swarthy faces
and their glittering teeth. The great mast towered up
into the darkness. The river gleamed below. The stars
shone overhead. We felt we were indeed strangers in a
strange land.

SAKKABA11 AND MEMPHIS. 43

CHAPTER IV.

SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS.

HAVING arrived at Bedreshayn after dark and there
moored for the night, we were roused early next morning
by the furious squabbling and chattering of some fifty or
sixty men and boys, who, with a score or two of little
rough-coated, depressed-looking donkeys, were assembled
on the high bank above. Seen thus against the sky, their
tattered garments fluttering in the wind, their brown arms
and legs in frantic movement, they looked like a troojo of
mad monkeys let loose. Every moment the uproar grew
shriller. Every moment more men, more boys, more
donkeys appeared upon the scene. It was as if some
new Cadmus had been sowing boys and donkeys broadcast
and they had all come up at once for our benefit.

Then it appeared that Talhamy, knowing how eight
donkeys would be wanted for our united forces, had sent
up to the village for twenty-five, intending, perhaps with
more wisdom than justice, to select the best and dismiss
the others. The result was overwhelming. Misled by
the magnitude of the order and concluding that Cook's
party had arrived, every man, boy and donkey in Bedre-
shayn and the neighboring village of Mitrahineh had
turned out in hot haste and rushed down to the river; so
that by the time breakfast was over there were steeds
enough in readiness for all the English in Cairo. I pass
over the tumult that ensued when our party at last
mounted the eight likeliest beasts and rode away, leaving
the indignant multitude to disperse at leisure.

And now our way lies over a dusty flat, across the rail-
way line, past the long straggling village, and through the
famous plantations known as the Palms of Memphis. There
is a crowd of patient-looking fellaheen at the little white-
washed station, waiting for the train, and the usual rabble
of clamorous water, bread and fruit sellers. Bedreshayn,

44 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

though a collection of mere mud-hovels, looks pretty, nest-
ling in the midst of stately date-palms. Square pigeon
towers, imbedded round the top with layers of wide-
mouthed pots and stuck with rows of leafless acacia boughs
like ragged banner poles, stand up at intervals among the
huts. The pigeons go in and out of the pots, or sit preen-
ing their feathers on the branches. The dogs dasli out
and bark madly at us as we go by. The little brown chil-
dren pursue us with cries of " Bakhshish!" The potter,
laying out rows of soft, gray, freshly molded clay bowls
and kullehs* to bake in the sun, stops, open-mouthed,
and stares as if he had never seen a European till this mo-
ment. His young wife snatches up her baby and pulls her
veil more closely over her face, fearing the evil eye.

The village being left behind, we ride on through one
long palm-grove after another; now skirting the borders of
a large sheet of tranquil back-water; now catching a
glimpse of the far-off pyramids of Ghizeh, now passing
between the huge irregular mounds of crumbled clay which
mark the site of Memphis. Next beyond these we come
out upon a high embanked road some twenty feet above
the plain, which here spreads out like a wide lake and
spends its last dark-brown alluvial wave against the
yellow rocks which define the edge of the desert. High on
this barren plateau, seen for the first timein one unbroken
panoramic line, there stand a solemn company of pyramids;
those of Sakkarah straight before us, those of Dahshur to
the left, those of Abusir to the right and the great pyra-
mids of Ghizeh always in the remotest distance.

It might be thought that there would be some monotony
in such a scene and but little beauty. On the contrary,
however, there is beauty of a most subtle and exquisite
kind — transcendent beauty of color and atmosphere and
sentiment; and no monotony either in the landscape or in
the forms of the pyramids. One of these which we are
now approaching is built in a succession of platforms grad-
ually decreasing toward the top. Another down yonder at
Dahshur curves outward at the angles, half dome, half
pyramid, like the roof of the Palais de Justice, in Paris.

* The goolah, or kulleh, is a porous water- jar of sun-dried Nile
mud. These jars are made of all sizes and in a variety of remark-
ably graceful forms, and cost from about one farthing to twopence
apiece.

SAKKARAII AND MEMPHIS. 45

No two are of precisely the same size, or built at precisely
the same angle; and each cluster differs somehow in the
grouping.

Then again the coloring — coloring not to be matched
with any pigments yet invented. The Libyan rocks, like
rusty gold — the paler hue of the driven sand-slopes — the
warm maize of the nearer pyramids which, seen from this
distance, takes a tender tint of rose, like the red bloom on an
apricot — the delicate tone of these objects against the sky
— the infinite gradations of that sky, soft and pearly toward
the horizon, hlne and burning toward the zenith — the
opalescent shadows, pale blue and violet and greenish-
gray, that nestle in the hollows of the rock and the curves
of the sand-drifts — all this is beautiful in a way impossi-
ble to describe, and, alas! impossible to copy. Nor does
the lake-like plain with its palm-groves and corn-flats form
too tame a foreground. It is exactly what is wanted to
relieve that glowing distance.

And now, as we follow the zigzags of the road, the new
pyramids grow gradually larger; the sun mounts higher;
the heat increases. We meet a train of camels, buffaloes,
shaggy brown sheep, men, women, and children of all ages.
The camels are laden with bedding, rugs, mats, and crates
of poultry, and carry, besides, two women with babies and
one very old man. The younger men drive the tired
beasts. The rest follow behind. The dust rises after
them in a cloud. It is evidently the migration of a family
of three, if not four generations. One cannot help being
struck by the patriarchal simplicity of the incident. Just
thus, with flocks and herds and all his clan, went Abraham
into the land of Canaan close upon four thousand years
ago; and one at least of these Sakkarah pyramids was even
then the oldest building in the world.

It is a touching and picturesque procession — much more
picturesque than ours and much more numerous; not-
withstanding that our united forces, including donkey
boys, porters and miscellaneous hangers-on, number nearer
thirty than twenty persons. For there are the M. B.'s and

their nephew, and L and the writer, and L 's maid,

and Talhamy, all on donkeys; and then there are the
owners of the donkeys, also on donkeys; and then every
donkey has a boy; and every boy has a donkey; and every
donkey-boy's donkey has an inferior boy in attendance.

46 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Our style of dress, too, however convenient, is not exactly
in harmony with the surrounding scenery; and one cannot
but feel, as these draped and dusty pilgrims pass us on the
road, that we cut a sorroy figure with our hideous palm-
leaf hats, green veils, and white umbrellas.

But the must amazing and incongruous personage in our
whole procession is unquestionably George. Now George
is an English north-country groom whom the M. B.'s
have brought out from the wilds of Lancashire, partly
because he is a good shot and may be useful to "Master
Alfred " after birds and crocodiles, and partly from a
well-founded belief in his general abilities. And George,
who is a fellow of infinite jest and infinite resource, takes
to eastern life as a duckling to the water. He picks up
Arabic as if it were his mother tongue. He skins birds
like a practiced taxidermist. He can even wash and iron
on occasion. He is, in short, groom, footman, house-maid,
laundry-maid, stroke-oar, gamekeeper and general factotum
all in one. And, besides all this, he is gifted with a comic
gravity of countenance that no surprises and no disasters
can upset for a moment. To see this worthy anachronism
cantering along in his groom's coat and gaiters, livery-
buttons, spotted neckcloth, tall hat, and all the rest of it;
his long legs dangling within an inch of the ground on
either side of the most diminutive of donkeys; his double-
barreled fowling-piece under his arm, and that imper-
turbable look in his face, one would have sworn that he
and Egypt were friends of old, and that he had been
brought up on pyramids from his earliest childhood.

It is a long and shelterless ride from the palms to the
desert; but we come to the end of it at last, mounting just
such another sand-slope as that which leads up from the
Ghizeh road to the foot of the great pyramid. The edge
of the plateau here rises abruptly from the plain in one
long range of low perdendicular cliffs pierced with dark
mouths of rock-cut sepulchers, while the sand-slope by
which we are climbing pours down through a breach in the
rock, as an Alpine snow-drift flows through a mountain
gap from the ice-level above.

And now, having dismounted through compassion for
our unfortunate little donkeys, the first thing we observe
is the curious mixture of debris underfoot. At Ghizeh
one treads only sand and pebbles; but here at Sakkarah

SAKKAUAII AND MEMPHIS. 47

the whole plateau is thickly strewn with scraps of broken
pottery, limestone, marble, and alabaster ; flakes of green
and blue glaze; bleached bones; shreads of yellow linen,
and lumps of some odd-looking, dark-brown substance, like
dried-up sponge. Presently some one picks up a little
noseless head of one of the common blue-ware funereal
statuettes, and immediately we all fall to work, grubbing
for treasure — a pure waste of precious time; for, though the
sand is full of debris, it has been sifted so often and so
carefully by the Arabs that it no longer contains anything
worth looking for. Meanwhile, one finds a fragment of
iridescent glass — another, a morsel of shattered vase — a
third, an opaque bead of some kind of yellow paste. And
then, with a sbock which the present writer, at all events,
will not soon forget, we suddenly discover that these scat-
tered bones are human — that those linen shreds are shreds
of cerement cloths — that yonder odd-looking brown lumps
are rent fragments of what once was living flesh! And
now for the first time we realize that every inch of this
ground on which we are standing, and all these hillocks
and hollows and pits in the sand, are violated graves.

" Ge n'est que le premier pas qu% coute." We soon
became quite hardened to such sights and learned to rum-
mage among dusty sepulchers with no more compunction
than would have befitted a gang of professional body-
snatchers. These are experiences upon which one looks
back afterward with wonder and something like remorse;
but so infectious is the universal callousness, and so over-
mastering is the passion for relic-hunting, that I do not
doubt we should again do the same things under the same
circumstances. Most Egyptian travelers, if questioned,
would have to make a similar confession. Shocked at
first, they denounce with horror the whole system of sepul-
chral excavation, legal as well as predatory ; acquiring,
however, a taste for scarabs and funerary statuettes, they
soon begin to buy with eagerness the spoils of the dead;
finally, they forget all their former scruples and ask no
better fortune than to discover and confiscate a tomb for
themselves.

Notwithstanding that I had first seen the pyramids of
Ghizeh, the size of the Sakkarah group — especially of the
pyramid in platforms — took me by surprise. They are all
smaller than the pyramids of Klmfu and Khafra and

48 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

would no doubt look sufficiently insignificant if seen with
them in close juxtaposition; but taken by themselves they
are quite vast enough for grandeur. As for the pyramid
in platforms (which is the largest at Sakkarah, and next
largest to the pyramid of Khafra), its position is so fine, its
architectural style so exceptional, its age so immense that
one altogether loses sight of these questions of relative
magnitude. If Egyptologists are right in ascribing the
royal title hieroglyphed on the inner door of this pyramid
to Ouenephes, the fourth king of the first dynasty, then
it is the most ancient building in the world. It had been
standing from five to seven hundred years when King
Khufu began his great pyramid at Ghizeh. It was over
two thousand years old when Abraham was born. It is
now about six thousand eight hundred years old according
to Manetho and Mariette, or about four thousand eight
hundred according to the computation of Bunsen. One's
imagination recoils upon the brink of such a gulf of time.

The door of this pyramid was carried off with other
precious spoils by Lepsius and is now in the museum at
Berlin. The evidence that identifies the inscription is
tolerably direct. According to Manetho, an Egyptian his-
torian who wrote in Greek and lived in the reign of Ptol-
emy Philadelphia, King Ouenephes built for himself a
pyramid at a place called Kokhome. Now a tablet dis-
covered in the Serapeum by Mariette gives the name of
Ka-kem to the necropolis of Sakkarah; and as the pyramid
in stages is not only the largest on this platform, but is
also the only one in which a royal cartouche has been
found, the conclusion seems obvious.

When a building has already stood for five or six thou-
sand years in a climate where mosses and lichens, and all
those natural signs of age to which we are accustomed in
Europe, are unknown, it is not to be supposed that a few
centuries more or less can tell upon its outward appearance;
yet to my thinking the pyramid of Ouenephes looks older
than those of Ghizeh. If this be only fancy, it gives one,
at all events, the impression of belonging structurally to a
ruder architectural period. The idea of a monument com-
posed of diminishing platforms is in its nature more prim-
itive than that of a smooth four-sided pyramid. We
remarked that the masonry on one side — I think on the
side facing eastward — was in a much more perfect con-
dition than on either of the others.

SA KKA RA H A ND MEMPHIS. 49

Wilkinson describes the interior as "a hollow dome
supported here and there by wooden rafters," and states
that the sepulchral chamber was lined with blue porcelain
tiles.* We would have liked to go inside, but this is no
longer possible, the entrance being blocked by a recent fall
of masonry

Making up now for lost time, we rode on as far as the
house built in 1850 for Mariette's accommodation during
the excavation of the Serapeum — a labor which extended
over a period of more than four years. The Serapeum, it
need hardly be said, is the famous and long-lost sepulchral
temple of the sacred bulls. These bulls (honored by the
Egyptians as successive incarnations of Osiris) inhabited
the temple of Apis at Memphis while they lived; and,
being mummied after death, were buried in catacombs
prepared for them in the desert. In 1850, Mariette,
traveling in the interests of the French government, dis-
covered both the temple and the catacombs, being, accord-
ing to his own narrative, indebted for the clew to a certain
passage in Strabo, which describes the Temple of Serapis as
being situate in a district where the sand was so drifted by
the wind that the approach to it was in danger of being
overwhelmed; while the sphinxes on either side of the
great avenue were already more or less buried, some having
only their heads above the surface. "If Strabo had not
written this passage," says Mariette, "it is probable that
the Serapeum would still be lost under the sands of the
necropolis of Sakkarah. One day, however (in 1850),
being attracted to Sakkarah by my Egyptological studies.
I perceived the head of a sphinx showing above the surface.
It evidently occupied its original position. Close by lay a
libation-table on which was engraved a hieroglyphic
inscription to Apis-Osiris. Then that passage in Strabo
came to my memory, and I knew that beneath my feet lay
the avenue leading to the long and vainly sought Serapeum.
Without saying a word to any one I got some workmen
together and we began excavating. The beginning was
difficult; but soon the lions, the peacocks, the Greek

* Some of these tiles are to be seen in the Egyptian department of
the British Museum. They are not blue, but of a bluish green. For
a view of the sepulchral chamber, see Maspero's "Archeologie Egvp-
tienne," fig. 230, p. 256. [Note to second edition.]

50 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

statues of theDromos, the inscribed tablets of the Temple
of Nectanebo* rose up from the sands. Thus was the
Serapeum discovered."

The house — a slight, one-storied building on a space of
rocky platform — looks down upon a sandy hollow which
now presents much the same appearance that it must have
presented when Marietta was first reminded of the fortu-
nate passage in Strabo. One or two heads of sphinxes
peep up here and there in a ghastly way above the sand
and mark the line of the great avenue. The upper half
of a boy riding on a peacock, apparently of rude execu-
tion, is "also visible. The rest is already as completely
overwhelmed as if it had never been uncovered. One can
scarcely believe that only twenty years ago the whole place
was entirely cleared at so vast an expenditure of time and
labor. The work, as I have already mentioned, took four
years to complete. This avenue alone was six hundred
feet in length and bordered by an army of sphinxes, one
hundred and forty-one of which were found in situ. As
the excavation neared the end of the avenue, the causeway,
which followed a gradual descent between massive walls,
lay seventy feet below the surface. The labor was immense
and the difficulties were innumerable. The ground had to
be contested inch by inch. " In certain places," says
Mariette, " the sand was fluid, so to speak, and baffled us
like water continually driven back and seeking to regain
its level. "f

If, however, the toil was great, so also was the rewrard.
A main avenue terminated by a semicircular platform,
around which stood statues of famous Greek philosophers
and poets; a second avenue at right angles to the first; the
remains of the great temple of the Serapeum ; three
smaller temples; and three distinct groups of Apis cata-
combs were brought to light. A descending passage open-
ing from a chamber in the great temple led to the cata-

* Nectanebo I and Nectanebo II were the last native Pharaohs of
ancient Egypt, and nourished between b. c. 378 and b. c. 340. An
earlier temple must have preceded the Serapeum built by Nec-
tanebo I.

f For an excellent and exact account of the Serapeum and the
monuments there discovered, see M. Arthur Rhone's " L'Egypte en
Petites Journees." [Note to second edition.]

SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 51

combs — vast labyrinths of vaults and passages hewn out of
the solid rock on which the temples were built. These
three groups of excavations represent three epochs of
Egyptian history. The first and most ancient series con-
sists of isolated vaults dating from the eighteenth to the
twenty-second dynasty ; that is to say, from about b. c.
1703 to b. c. 980. The second group, which dates from the
reign of Sheshonk I (twenty-second dynasty, b. c. 980)
to that of Tirhakah, the last king of the twenty-fifth
dynasty, is more systematically planned, and consists of
one long tunnel bordered on each side by a row of funereal
chambers. The third belongs to the Greek period, be-
ginning with Psammetichus I (twenty-sixth dynasty,
b. c. 6G5) and ending with the latest Ptolemies. Of these,
the first are again choked with sand; the second are con-
sidered unsafe; and the third only is accessible to travelers.

After a short but toilsome walk and some delay outside
a prison-like door at the bottom of a steep descent, we were
admitted by the guardian — a gaunt old Arab with a lantern
in his hand. It was not an inviting looking place within.
The outer daylight fell upon a rough step or two, beyond
which all was dark. We went in. A hot, heavy atmos-
phere met us on the threshold; the door fell to with a
dull clang, the echoes of which went wandering away as if
into the central recesses of the earth; the Arab chattered
and gesticulated. He was telling us that we were now in
the great vestibule and that it measured ever so many
feet in this and that direction; but we could see nothing —
neither the vaulted roof overhead, nor the walls on any
side, nor even the ground beneath our feet. It was like
the darkness of infinite space.

A lighted candle was then given to each person and the
Arab led the way. He went dreadfully fast and it seemed
at every step as if one were on the brink of some frightful
chasm. Gradually, however, our eyes became accustomed
to the gloom, and we found that we had passed out of the
vestibule into the first great corridor. All was vague,
mysterious, shadowy. A dim perspective loomed out of
the darkness. The lights twinkled and flitted like wander-
ing sparks of stars. The Arab held his lantern to the walls
here and there, and showed us some votive tablets in-
scribed with records of pious visits paid by devout
Egyptians to the sacred tombs. Of these they found five

52 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

hundred when the catacombs were first opened ; but
Mariette sent nearly all to the Louvre.

A few steps farther and we came to the tombs — a suc-
cession of great vaulted chambers hewn out at irregular
distances along both sides of the central corridor and sunk
some six or eight feet below the surface. In the middle of
each chamber stood an enormous sarcophagus of polished
granite. The Arab, flitting on ahead like a black ghost,
paused a moment before each cavernous opening, flashed
the light of his lantern on the sarcophagus and sped away
again, leaving us to follow as we could.

So we went on, going every moment deeper into the solid
rock and farther from theopenairand thesunshine. Think-
ing it would be cold underground, we had brought warm
wraps in plenty; but the heat, on the contrary, was intense,
and the atmosphere stifling. We had not calculated on
the dryness of the place, nor had we remembered that or-
dinary mines and tunnels are cold because they are damp.
But here for incalculable ages — for thousands of years
probably before the Nile had even cut its path through the
rocks of Silsilis — a cloudless African sun had been pouring
its daily floods of light and heat upon the dewless desert
overhead. The place might well be unendurable. It was
like a great oven stored with the slowly accumulated heat
of cycles so remote and so many, that, the earliest periods
of Egyptian history seem, when compared with them, to
belong to yesterday.

Having gone on thus for a distance of nearly two hun-
dred yards, we came to a chamber containing the first hiero-
glyphed sarcophagus we had yet seen; all the rest being
polished, but plain. Here the Arab paused ; and, finding
access provided by means of a flight of wooden steps, we
went down into the chamber, Avalked round the sarcoph-
agus, peeped inside by the help of a ladder, and examined
the hieroglyphs with which it is covered. Enormous as
they look from above, one can form no idea of the bulk of
these huge monolithic masses except from the level on
which they stand. This sarcophagus, which dates from
the reign of Amasis, of the twenty-sixth dynasty, measured
fourteen feet in length by eleven' in height, and consisted
of a single block of highly wrought black granite. Four
persons might sit in it round a small card-table, and play a
rubber comfortably.

SAKKARAII AND MEMPHIS. 53

From this point the corridor branches off for another
two hundred yards or so, leading always to more chambers
and more sarcophagi, of which last there are altogether
twenty-four. Three only are inscribed; none measure less
than from thirteen to fourteen feet in length; and all are
empty. The lids in every instance have been pushed back
a little way, and some are fractured; but the spoilers have
been unable wholly to remove them. According to
Mariette, the place was pillaged by the early Christians,
who, besides carrying off whatever they could find in the
way of gold and jewels, seem to have destroyed the mum-
mies of the bulls and razed the great temple nearly to the
ground. Fortunately, however, they either overlooked, or
left as worthless, some hundreds of exquisite bronzes and
the five hundred votive tablets before mentioned, which,
as they record not only the name and rank of the visitor,
but also, with few exceptions, the name and year of the
reigning Pharaoh, afford invaluable historical data, and
are likely to do more than any previously discovered docu-
ments toward clearing up disputed points of Egyptian
chronology.

It is a curious fact that one out of the three inscribed
sarcophagi should bear the oval of Cambyses — that Caui-
byses of whom it is related that, having desired the priests
of Memphis to bring before him the god Apis, he drew
his dagger in a transport of rage and contempt and stabbed
the animal in the thigh. According to Plutarch, he slew
the beast and cast out its body to the dogs; according to
Herodotus, " Apis lay some time pining in the temple,
but at last died of his wound, and the priests buried him
secretly;" but according to one of these precious Sera-
peum tablets, the wounded bull did not die till the fourth
year of the reign of Darius. So wonderfully does modern
discovery correct and illustrate tradition.

And now comes the sequel to this ancient story in the
shape of an anecdote related by M. About, who tells how
Mariette, being recalled suddenly to Paris some months
after the opening of the Serapeum, found himself without
the means of carrying away all his newly excavated an-
tiquities, and so buried fourteen cases in the desert, there
to await his return. One of these cases contained an
Apis mummy which had escaped discovery by the early
Christians ; and this mummy was that of the identical

54 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Apis stabbed by Cambyses. That the creature had actually
survived his wound was proved by the condition of one of
the thigh-bones, which showed unmistakable signs of both
injury and healing.

Nor does the story end here. Mariette being gone, and
having taken with him all that was most portable among
his treasures, there came to Memphis one whom M. About
indicates as " a young and august stranger" traveling in
Egypt for his pleasure. The Arabs, tempted perhaps by
a princely bakhshish, revealed the secret of the hidden
cases; whereupon the archduke swept off the whole four-
teen, dispatched them to Alexandria, and immediately
shipped them for Trieste.* "Quant an coupable," says
M. About, who professes to have had the story direct from
Mariette, "ilafini si tragiquement dans un autre hemi-
sphere que, tout bien pese, je renonce a publier son nora."
But through so transparent a disguise it is not difficult to
identify the unfortunate hero of this curious anecdote.

The sarcophagus in which the Apis was found remains
in the vaults of the Serapeum; but we did not see it. Hav-
ing come more than two hundred yards already, and being
by this time well-nigh suffocated, we did not care to put
two hundred yards more between ourselves and the light
of day. So we turned back at the half distance — having,
however, first burned a pan of magnesian powder, which
flared up wildly for a few seconds; lit the huge gallery and
all its cavernous recesses and the wondering faces of the
Arabs, and then went out with a plunge, leaving the dark-
ness denser than before.

From hence, across a farther space of sand we went in
all the blaze of noon to the tomb of one Ti, a priest and
commoner of the fifth dynasty, wdio married with a lady
named Neferhotep-s, the granddaughter of a Pharaoh, and
here built himself a magnificent tomb in the desert.

On the facade of this tomb, which must originally have
looked like a little temple, only two large pillars remain.
Next comes a square court-yard, surrounded by a roofless
colonnade, from one corner of which a covered passage
leads to two chambers. In the center of the court-yard

* These objects, known as "The Miramar Collection," and cata-
logued by Professor Keinisch, are now removed to Vienna. [Note
to second edition.]

SAKE All All AND MEMPHIS. 55

yawns an open pit some twenty-five feet in depth, with a
shattered sarcophagus just visible in the gloom of the
vault below. All here is limestone — walls, pillars, pave-
ments, even the excavated debris with which the pit hud
been filled in when the vault was closed forever. The
quality of this limestone is close and fine like marble, and
so white that, although the walls and columns of the
court-yard are covered with sculptures of most exquisite ex-
ecution and of the greatest interest, the reflected light is so
intolerable that we find it impossible to examine them with
the interest they deserve. In the passage, however, where
there is shade, and in the large chamber, where it is so dark
that we can see only by the help of lighted candles, we find a
succession of bas-reliefs so numerous and so closely packed
that it would take half a day to see them properly.
Banged in horizontal parallel lines about a foot and a half
in depth, these extraordinary pictures, row above row,
cover every inch of wall-space from floor to ceiling. The
relief is singularly low. I should doubt if it anywhere ex-
ceeds a quarter of an inch. The surface, which is covered
with a thin film of very fine cement, has a quality and
]:>olish like ivory. The figures measure an average height
of about twelve inches, and all are colored.

Here, as in an open book, we have the biography of Ti.
His whole life, his pleasures, his business, his domestic
relations, are brought before us with just that faithful sim-
plicity which makes the charm of Montaigne and Pepys.
A child might read the pictured chronicles which illumi-
nate these walls and take as keen a pleasure in them as the
wisest of archaeologists.

Ti was a wealthy man and his wealth was of the agri-
cultural sort. He owned flocks and herds and vassals in
plenty. He kept many kinds of birds and beasts — geese,
ducks, pigeons, cranes, oxen, goats, asses, antelopes and
gazelles. He was fond of fishing and fowling, and used
sometimes to go after crocodiles and hippopotamuses,
which came down as low as Memphis in his time. He was
a kind husband, too, and a good father, and loved to
share his pleasures with his family. Here we see him sit-
ting in state with his wife and children, while professional
singers and dancers perform before them. Yonder they
walk out together and look on while the farm-servants are
at work, and watch the coming in of the boats that bring

5G A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

home the produce of Ti's more distant lands. Here the
geese are being driven home; the cows are crossing a ford;
the oxen are plowing; the sower is scattering his seed; the
reaper plies his sickle; the oxen tread the grain; the corn
is stored in the granary. There are evidently no independ-
ent tradesfolk in these early days of the world. Ti has his
own artificers on his own estate, and all his goods and chat-
tels are home-made. Here the carpenters are fashioning
new furniture for the house; the shipwrights are busy on
new boats; the potters mold pots; the metal-workers smelt
ingots of red gold. It is plain to see that Ti lived like a
king within his own boundaries. He makes an imposing
figure, too, in all these scenes, and, being represented
about eight times as large as his servants, sits and stands a
giant among pigmies. His wife (we must not forget that
she was of the blood royal) is as big as himself; and the
children are depicted about half the size of their parents.
Curiously enough, Egyptian art never outgrew this early
naivete. The great man remained a big man to the last
days of the Ptolemies, and the fellah was always a
dwarf.*

Apart from these and one or two other mannerisms,
nothing can be more natural than the drawing, or more
spirited than the action, of all these men and animals.
The most difficult and transitory movements are expressed
with masterly certitude. The donkey kicks up his heels
and brays — the crocodile plunges — the wild duck rises on
the wing; and the fleeting action is caught in each in-
stance with a truthfulness that no landseer could distance.
The forms, which have none of the conventional stiffness
of later Egyptian work, are modeled roundly and boldly
yet finished with exquisite precision and delicacy. The

* A more exhaustive study of the funerary texts has of late revolu-
tionized our interpretation of these and similar sepulchral tableaux.
The scenes they represent are not, as was supposed when this book
was fust written, mere episodes in the daily life of the deceased; but
are links in the elaborate story of his burial and his ghostly existence
after death. The corn is sown, reaped, and gathered in order that it
may be ground and made into funerary cakes ; the oxen, goats,
gazelles, geese and other live stock are destined for sacrificial offer-
ings; the pots, and furniture, and household goods are for burying
with the mummy in his tomb; and it is his " Ka," or ghostly double,
that takes part in these various scenes, and not the living man. [Note
to second edition.]

SAKKA HA II AND MEMPHIS.

57

coloring, however, is purely decorative; and, being laid on
in single tints, with no attempt at gradation or shading,
conceals rather than enhances the beauty of the sculp-
tures. These, indeed, are best seen where the color is en-
tirely rubbed off. The tints are yet quite brilliant in parts
of the larger chamber; but in the passage and court-yard,
which have been excavated only a few years and are with
difficulty kept clear from day to day, there is not a vestige
of color left. This is the work of the sand — that patient
laborer whose office it is not only to preserve but to destroy.
The sand secretes and preserves the work of the sculptor,
but it effaces the work of the painter. In sheltered places
where it accumulates passively like a snow-drift, it brings
away only the surface detail, leaving the under colors
rubbed and dim. But nothing, as I
had occasion constantly to remark in
the course of the journey, removes
color so effectually as sand which is
exposed to the shifting action of the
wind.

This tomb, as we have seen, con-
sists of a portico, a court-yard, two
chambers, and a sepulchral vault ;
but it also contains a secret passage
of the kind known as a "serdab."
These " serdabs," which are con-
structed in the thickness of the walls and have no
entrances, seem to be peculiar to tombs of the ancient em-
pire (i.e. the period of the pyramid kings); and they contain
statues of the deceased of all sizes, in wood, lime-stone,
and granite. Twenty statues of Ti were here found im-
mured in the "serdab" of his tomb, all broken save one — a
spirited figure in lime-stone, standing about seven feet high,
and now in the museum at Boulak. This statue represents a
fine young man in a white tunic, and is evidently a portrait.
The features are regular; the expression is good-natured;
the whole tournure of the head is more Greek than Egyp-
tian. The flesh is painted of a yellowish brick tint, and
the figure stands in the usual hieratic attitude, with the
left leg advanced, the hands clenched, and the arms
straightened close to the sides. One seems to know Ti so
well after seeing the wonderful pictures in his tomb, that

HEAD OF TI.

58 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

this charming statue interests one like the portrait of a
familiar friend.*

How pleasant it was, after being suffocated in the Sera-
peum and broiled in the tomb of Ti, to return to Mari-
ettas deserted bouse and eat our luncheon on the cool
stone terrace that looks northward over the desert! Some
wooden tables and benches are hospitably left here for the
accommodation of travelers, and fresh water in ice-cold
kullehs is provided by the old Arab guardian. The yards
and offices at the back are full of broken statues and frag-
ments of inscriptions in red and black granite. Two
sphinxes from the famous avenue adorn the terrace and
look down upon their half-buried companions in the sand-
hollow below. The yellow desert, barren and undulating,
with a line of purple peaks on the horizon, reaches away
into the far distance. To the right, under a jutting ridge
of rocky plateau not two hundred yards from the house,
yawns an opened-mouthed black-looking cavern shored up
with heavy beams and approached by a slope of debris.
This is the forced entrance to the earlier vaults of the
Serapeum, in one of which was found a mummy described
by Mariette as that of an Apis, but pronounced by Brugsch
to be the body of Prince Kha-em-uas, governor of Mem-
phis and the favorite son of Rameses the Great.

This remarkable mummy, which looked as much like a
bull as a man, was found covered with jewels and gold
chains and precious amulets engraved with the name of
Kha-em-uas, and had on its face a golden mask; all which
treasures are now to be seen in the Louvre. If it was the
mummy of an Apis, then the jewels with which it was
adorned were probably the offering of the prince at that
time ruling in Memphis. If, on the contrary, it was the
mummy of a man, then, in order to be buried in a place
of peculiar sanctity, he probably usurped one of the vaults
prepared for the god. The question is a curious one and

* These statues were not mere portrait-statues; but were designed
as bodily habitations for the incorporeal ghost, or " Ka," which it
was supposed needed a body, food and drink, and must perish ever-
lastingly if not duly supplied with these necessaries. Hence the
whole system of burying food-offerings, furniture, stuffs, etc., in an-
cient Egyptian sepulchers. [Note to second edition.]

SAKKARAII AND MEMPHIS. 59

remains unsolved to this day; but it could no doubt be set-
tled at a glance by Professor Owen.*

Far more startling, however, than the discovery of either
Apis or jewels was the sight beheld by Mariette on first
entering that long-closed sepulchral chamber. The mine
being sprung and the opening cleared he went in alone ;
and there, on the thin layer of sand that covered the floor
he found the footprints of the workmen who, three thou-
sand seven hundred years f before, had laid that shapeless
mummy in its tomb and closed the doors upon it, as they
believed, forever.

And now — for the afternoon is already waning fast — the
donkeys are brought round and we are told that it is time
to move on. We have the sight of Memphis and the fa-
mous prostrate colossus yet to see and the long road lies all
before us. So back we ride across the desolate sands; and
with a last, long, wistful glance at the pyramid in plat-
forms, go down from the territory of the dead into the
land of the living.

There is a wonderful fascination about this pyramid.
One is never weary of looking at it — of repeating to one's
self that it is indeed the oldest building on the face of the
whole earth. The king who erected it came to the throne,
according to Manetho, about eighty years after the death
of Mena, the founder of the Egyptian monarchy. All we
have of him is his pyramid; all we know of him is his
name. And these belong, as it were, to the infancy of the
human race. In dealing with Egyptian dates one is apt to
think lightly of periods that count only by centuries ; but
it is a habit of mind which leads to error and it should be
combated. The present writer found it useful to be con-
stantly comparing relative chronological eras ; as, for
instance, in realizing the immense antiquity of the Sak-
karah pyramid, it is some help to remember that from the
time when it was built by King Ouenephes to the time
when King Khufu erected the great pyramid of Ghizeh,
there probably lies a space of years equivalent to that
which, in the history of England, extends from the date

* The actual tomb of Prince Klia-em-uas lias been found at Mem-
phis by M. Maspero within the last three or four years. [Note to
second edition.]

\ The date is Mariette's.

60 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

of the conquest to the accession of George II.* And yet
Klmfu himself — the Cheops of the Greek historians — is
but a shadowy figure hovering upon the threshold of
Egyptian history.

And now the desert is left behind and we are nearing
the palms that lead to Memphis. We have, of course, been
dipping into Herodotus — every one takes Herodotus up the
Nile — and our heads are full of the ancient glories of this
famous city. We know that Mena turned the course of
the river in order to build it on this very spot, and that all
the most illustrious Pharaohs adorned it with temples,
palaces, pylons and precious sculptures. We had read of
the great Temple of Ptah that Pameses the Great enriched
with colossi of himself; and of the sanctuary where Apis
lived in state, taking his exercise in a pillared court-yard
where every column was a statue; and of the artificial lake
and the sacred groves and the obelisks and all the wonders
of a city which, even in its later days, was one of the most
populous in Egypt.

Thinking over these things by the way, Ave agree that
it is well to have left Memphis till the last. We shall
appreciate it the better for having first seen that other city
on the edge of the desert to which, for nearlv six thousand
years, all Memphis was quietly migrating, generation
after generation. We know now how poor folk labored, and
how great gentlemen amused themselves, in those early
days when there were hundreds of country gentlemen like
Ti, with town-houses at Memphis and villas by the Nile.
From the Serapeum, too, buried and ruined as it is, one
cannot but come away with a profound impression of the
splendor and power of a religion which could command
for its myths such faith, such homage, and such public
works.

And now we are once more in the midst of the palm-

* There was no worship of Apis in the days of King Ouenephes,
nor, indeed, until the reign of Kaiechos, more than one hundred and
twenty years after his time. But at some subsequent period of the
ancient empire his pyramid was appropriated by the priests of
Memphis for the mummies of the sacred bulls. This, of course,
was done before any of the known Apis catacombs were excavated.
There are doubtless many more of these catacombs yet undis-
covered, nothing prior to the eighteenth dynasty having yet been
found.

SAKKARA1I AND MEMPHIS. 61

woods, threading our way among the same mounds that
we passed in the morning. Presently those in front strike
away from the beaten road across a grassy flat to the right;
and the next moment we are all gathered round the brink
of a muddy pool, in the midst of which lies a shapeless
block of blackened and corroded limestone. This, it seems,
is the famous prostrate colossus of Rameses the Great,
which belongs to the British nation, but which the British
government is too economical to. remove.* So here it
lies, face downward; drowned once a year by the Nile;
visible only when the pools left by the inundation have
evaporated, and all the muddy hollows are dried up. It is
one of two which stood at the entrance to the great Temple
of Ptah; and by those who have gone down into the hollow
and seen it from below in the dry season, it is reported of
as a noble and very beautiful specimen of one of the best
periods of Egyptian art.

Where, however, is the companion colossus? Where is
the temple itself? Where are the pylons, the obelisk, the
avenues of sphinxes? Where, in short, is Memphis?

The dragoman shrugs his shoulders and points to the
barren mounds among the palms.

They look like gigantic dust-heaps and stand from
thirty to forty feet above the plain. Nothing grows upon
them, save here and there a tuft of stunted palm; and
their substance seems to consist chiefly of crumbled brick,
broken potsherds, and fragments of limestone. Some
few traces of brick foundations and an occasional block or
two of shaped stone are to be seen in places low down
against the foot of one or two of the mounds; but one
looks in vain for any sign which might indicate the out-
line of a boundary wall or the position of a great public
building.

And is this all?

No — not quite all. There are some mud-huts yonder,
in among the trees; and in front of one of these we find
a number of sculptured fragments — battered sphinxes,
torsos without legs, sitting figures without heads —
in green, black, and red granite. Ranged in an irregu-
lar semicircle on the sward, they seem to sit in forlorn

* This colussus is now raised upon a brick pedestal. [Note to
second edition.]

G2 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

conclave, half solemn, half ludicrous, with the goats
browsing round, and the little Arab children hiding
behind them.

Near this, in another pool, lies another red-granite
colossus — not the fellow to that which we saw first, but a
smaller one — also face downward.

And this is all that remains of Memphis, eldest of cities
— a few huge rubbish-heaps, a dozen or so of broken
statues, and a name! One looks round and tries in vain
to realize the lost splendors of the place. Where is the
Memphis that King Mena came from Thinis to found —
the Memphis of Ouenephes, and Khufa, and Khafra, and
all the early kings who built their pyramid-tombs in the
adjacent desert? Where is the Memphis of Herodotus, of
Strabo, of Abd-el-Latif ? Where are those stately ruins
which, even in the middle ages, extended over a space
estimated at "half a day's journey in every direction"?
One can hardly believe that a great city ever flourished
on this spot, or understand how it should have been
effaced so utterly. Yet here it stood — here where the
grass is green, and the palms are growing, and the
Arabs build their hovels on the verge of the inunda-
tion. The great colossus marks the site of the main
entrance to the Temple of Ptah. It lies where it fell, and
no man has moved it. That tranquil sheet of palm-
fringed back-water, beyond which we see the village of
Mitrahlneh and catch a distant glimpse of the pyramids of
Ghizeh, occupies the basin of a vast artificial lake exca-
vated by Mena. The very name of Memphis survives in
the dialect of the fellah, who calls the place of the
mounds Tell' Monf* — just as Sakkarah fossilizes the name
of Sokari, one of the special denominations of the Mem-
phite Osiris.

No capital in the world dates so far back as this or kept
it place in history so long. Founded four thousand years
before our era, it beheld the rise and fall of thirty-one
dynasties ; it survived the rule of the Persian, the Greek,
and the Roman ; it was, even in its decadence, second only

* Tell: Arabic for mound. Many of the mounds preserve the
ancient names of the cities they entomb ; as Tell Basta (Bubastis);
Kom Ombo (Ombos) ; etc., etc. Tell and Horn are synonymous
terms.

8 ARK AR All AND MEMPHIS. 63

to Alexandria in population and extent : and it continued
to be inhabited up to the time of the Arab invasion. It
then became the quarry from which Fostat (old Cairo) was
built; and as the new city rose on the eastern bank the
people of Memphis quickly abandoned their ancient
capital to desolation and decay.

Still a vast field of ruins remained. Abd-el-Latif,
writing at the commencement of the thirteenth century,
speaks with enthusiasm of the colossal statues and lions,
the enormous pedestals, the archways formed of only three
stones, the bas-reliefs and other wonders that were yet to
be seen upon the spot. Marco Polo, if his wandering
tastes had led him to the Nile, might have found some of
the palaces and temples of Memphis still standing ; and
Sandys, who in a.d. 1G10 went at least as far south of
Cairo as Kafr el Iyat, says that " up the river for twenty
miles space there was nothing but mines." Since then,
however, the very "mines" have vanished; the palms
have had time to grow ; and modern Cairo has doubtless
absorbed all the building material that remained from the
middle ages.

Memphis is a place to read about, and think about, and
remember; but it is a disappointing place to see. To miss
it, however, would be to miss the first link in the whole
chain of monumental history which unites the Egypt of
antiquity with the world of to-day. Those melancholy
mounds and that heron-haunted lake must be seen, if only
that they may take their due place in the picture-gallery of
one's memory.

It had been a long day's work, but it came to an end at
last ; and as we trotted our donkeys back toward the
river a gorgeous sunset was crimsoning the palms and
pigeon-towers of Bedreshayn. Everything seemed now to
be at rest. A buffalo, contemplatively chewing the cud,
lay close against the path and looked at us without moving.
The children and pigeons were gone to bed. The pots had
baked in the sun and been taken in long since. A tiny
column of smoke went up here and there from amid the
clustered huts ; but there was scarcely a moving creature
to be seen. Presently we passed a tall, beautiful fellah
woman standing grandly by the wayside, with her veil
thrown back and falling in long folds to her feet. She
smiled, put out her hand, and murmnr'd "bakhshish!"

64 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Her fingers were covered with rings and her arms with
silver bracelets. She begged because to beg is honorable,
and customary, and a master of inveterate habit ; but she
evidently neither expected nor needed the bakhshish she
condescended to ask for.

A few moments more and the sunset has faded, the
village is left behind, the last half-mile of plain is trotted
over. And now — hungry, thirsty, dusty, worn out with
new knowledge, new impressions, new ideas — we are once
more at home and at rest.

BEDBESHATN TO MINIEH. G5

CHAPTER V.

BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH.

It is the rule of the Nile to hurry up the river as fast as
possible, leaving the ruins to be seen as the bout conies
back with the current; but this, like many another canon,
is by no means of universal application. The traveler who
starts late in the season has, indeed, no other course open
to him. He must press on with speed to the end of his
journey, if he would get back again at low Nile without
being irretrievably stuck on a sand-bank till the next inun-
dation floats him off again. But for those who desire not
only to see the monuments, but to follow, however super-
ficially, the course of Egyptian history as it is handed
down through Egyptian art, it is above all things necessary
to start early and to see many things by the way.

For the history of ancient Egypt goes against the stream.
The earliest monuments lie between Cairo and Siout, while
the latest temples to the old gods are chiefly found in
Nubia. Those travelers, therefore, wdio hurry blindly
forward with or without a wind, now sailing, now tracking,
now punting, passing this place by night, and that by day,
and never resting till they have gained the farthest point
of their journey, begin at the wrong end and see all their
sights in precisely inverse order. Memphis and Sakkarah
and the tombs of Beni Hassan should undoubtedly he
visited on the way up. So should El Kab and Tell el
Amarna, and the oldest parts of Karnak and Luxor. It is
not necessary to delay long at any of these places. They
may be seen cursorily on the way up, and be more carefully
studied on the way down; but they should be seen as they
come, no matter at what trifling cost of present delay and
despite any amount of ignorant opposition. For in this
way only is it possible to trace the progression and retro-
gression of the arts from the pyramid-builders to the
Caesars; or to understand at the time and on the spot in

66 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

what order that vast and august procession of dynasties
swept across the stage of history.

For ourselves, as will presently be seen, it happened that
Ave could carry only a part of this programme into effect;
but that part, happily, was the most important. AVe never
ceased to congratulate ourselves on having made ac-
quaintance with the pyramids of Grhizeh and Sakkarah
before seeing the tombs of the kings at Thebes; and 1 feel
that it is impossible to overestimate the advantage of
studying the sculptures of the tomb of Ti before one's
taste is brought into contact with the debased style of
Denderah and Esneh. We began the great book, in short,
as it always should be begun — at its first page; thereby ac-
quiring just that necessary insight without which many an
after-chapter must have lost more than half its interest.

If I seem to insist upon this point it is because things
contrary to custom need a certain amount of insistance
and are sure to be met by opposition. No dragoman, for
example, could be made to understand the importance of
historical sequence in a matter of this kind; especially in
the case of a contract trip. To him, Khufu, Kameses and
the Ptolemies are one. As for the monuments, they are
all ancient Egyptian, and one is just as odd and unintel-
ligible as another. He cannot quite understand why
travelers come so far and spend so much money to look at
them; but he sets it down to a habit of harmless curiosity —
by which he profits.

The truth is, however, that the mere sight-seeing of the
Nile demands some little reading and organizing, if only
to be enjoyed. We cannot all be profoundly learned; but
we can at least do our best to understand what we see — to
get rid of obstacles — to put the right thing in the right
place. For the land of Egypt is, as I have said, a great
book — not very easy reading, perhaps, under any circum-
stances; but at all events quite difficult enough already
without the added puzzlement of being read backward.

And now our next point along the river, as well as our next
link in the chain of early monuments, was Beni Hassan,
with its famous rock-cut tombs of the twelfth dynasty; and
Beni Hassan was still more than a hundred and forty-five
miles distant. We ought to have gone on again directly —
to have weighed anchor and made a few miles that very
evening on returning to the boats; but we insisted on a second

BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH. 67

day in the same place. This, too, with the favorable wind
still blowing. It was against all rule and precedent. The
captain shook his head, the dragoman remonstrated in
vain.

"You will come to learn the value of a wind when you
have been longer on the Nile," said the latter, with that air
of melancholy resignation which he always assumed when
not allowed to have his own way. He was an indolent,
good-tempered man, spoke English fairly well, and was
perfectly manageable; but that air of resignation came to
be aggravating in time.

The M. B.'s being of the same mind, however, we had
our second day, and spent it at Memphis. We ought to
have crossed over to Turra and have seen the great quarries
from which the casing-stones of the pyramids came, and
all the finer limestone with which the temples and
palaces of Memphis were built. But the whole mountain
side seemed as if glowing at a white heat on the opposite
side of the river, and wTe said we would put off Turra till
our return. So we went our own way; and Alfred shot
pigeons; and the writer sketched Mitrabineh and the
palms and the sacred Lake of Mena; and the rest grubbed
among the mounds for treasure, finding many curious
fragments of glass and pottery, and part of an engraved
bronze Apis; and we had a green, tranquil, lovely day, bar-
ren of incident, but very pleasant to remember.

The good wind continued to blow all that night, but fell
at sunrise, precisely when we were about to start. The
river now stretched away before us, smooth as glass, and
there was nothing for it, said Eei's Hassan, but tracking.
We had heard of tracking often enough since coming to
Egypt, but without having any definite idea of the process.
Coming on deck, however, before breakfast, we found
nine of our poor fellows harnessed to a rope like barge-
horses, towing the huge boat against the current. Seven
of the M. B.s' crew, similarly harnessed, followed at a few
yards' distance. The two ropes met and crossed and
dipped into the water together. Already our lust night's
mooring place was out of sight, and the pyramid of Ouen-
ephes stood up amid its lesser brethren on the edge of the
desert, as if bidding us good -by. But the sight of the
trackers jarred, somehow, with the placid beauty of the
picture, We got used to it, as one gets used to everything,

68 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

in time; but it looked like slaves' work and shocked our
English notions disagreeably.

That morning, still tracking, we pass the pyramids of
Dahshur. A dilapidated brick pyramid standing in the
midst of them looks like an aiguille of black rock thrusting
itself up through the limestone bed of the desert. Palms
line the bank and intercept the view, but we catch flitting
glimpses here and there, looking out especially for that
dome-like pyramid which we observed the other day
from Sakkarah. Seen in the full sunlight, it looks larger
and whiter and more than ever like the roof of the old
Palais de Justice far away in Paris.

Thus the morning passes. We sit on deck writing letters,
reading, watching the sunny river-side pictures that glide by
at a foot's pace, and are so long in sight. Palm-groves,
sand-banks, patches of fuzzy-headed dura* and fields of
some yellow-flowering herb succeed each other. A boy
plods along the bank, leading a camel. They go slowly,
but they soon leave us behind. A native boat meets us,
floating down sidewise with the current. A girl comes to
the water's edge with a great empty jar on her head
and waits to fill it till the trackers have gone by.
The pigeon-towers of a mud village peep above a clump
of lebbek trees, a quarter of a mile inland. Here a solitary
brown man, with only a felt skull-cap on his head and a
slip of scanty tunic fastened about his loins, worksa shaduf.f

* Sorghum vulgare.

f The shadfif has been so well described by the Kev. F. B. Zincke
that I cannot do better than quote him verbatim: "Mechanically,
the shadoof is an application of the lever. In no machine which the
wit of man, aided by the accumulation of science, has since invented,
is the result produced so great in proportion to the degree of power
employed. The level of the shadoof is a long stout pole poised on a
prop. The pole is at right angles to the river. A large lump of
clay from the spot is appended to the inland end. To the river end
is supended a goat-skin bucket. This is the whole apparatus. The
man who is working it stands on the edge of the river. Before him
is a hole full of water fed from the passing stream. When work-
ing the machine he takes hold of the cord by which the empty
bucket is suspended, and, bending down, by the mere weight of his
shoulders dips it in the water. His effort to rise gives the bucket
full of water an upward cant, which, with the aid of the equipoising
lump of clay at the other end of the pole, lifts it to a trough into
which, as it tilts on one side, it empties its contents. What he has
done has raised the water six or seven feet above the level of the

BEDRES1IAYN TO MINIEH.

09

stooping and rising, stooping and rising, with the regu-
larity ofa pendulum. It is the same machine which we
shall see by and by depicted in the tombs at Thebes ; and

■ -

THE S1IADUP.

the man is so evidently an ancient Egyptian, that we find
ourselves wondering how he escaped being mummified four
or five thousand years ago.

river. But if the river lias subsided twelve or fourteen feet, it will
require another shadoof to be worked in the trough into which the
water of the first has been brought. If the river has sunk still more,
a third will be required before it can be lifted to the top of the bank,
so as to enable it to flow off to the fields that require irrigation."—
" Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Khedive," p. 445 et seq.

70 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

By and by a little breeze springs up. The men
drop the rope and jump on board — the big sail is set —
— the breeze freshens — and away we go agaiu, as
merrily as the day we left Cairo. Toward sunset we
see a strange object, like a giant obelisk broken off half-
way, standing up on the western bank against an orange-
gold sky. This is the pyramid of Meydum, commonly
called the false pyramid. It looks quite near the bank;
but this is an effect of powerful light and shadow, for it
lies back at least four miles from the river. That night,
having sailed on till past nine o'clock, we moor about a
mile from Beni Suef, and learn with some surprise that a
man must be dispatched to the governor of the town for
guards. Not that anything ever happened to anybody at
Beni Su6f, says Talhamy : but that the place is supposed
not to have a first-rate reputation. If we have guards, we
at all events make the governor responsible for our safety
and the safety of our possessions. So the guards are sent
for; and being posted on the bank, snore loudly all night
long, just outside our windows.

Meanwhile the wind shifts round to the south, and next
morning it blows full in our faces. The men, however,
track up to Beni Suef to a point where the buildings come
down to the water's edge and the towing-path ceases; and
there we lay to for awhile among a fleet of filthy native
boats, close to the landing-place.

The approach to Beni Suef is rather pretty. The
khedive has an Italian-looking villa here, which peeps up
white and dazzling from the midst of a thickly wooded
park. The town lies back a little from the river. A few
coffee-houses and a kind of promenade face the landing-
place; and a mosque built to the verge of the bank stands
out picturesquely against the bend of the river.

And now it is our object to turn that corner, so as to
get into a better position for starting when the wind
drops. The current here runs deep and strong, so that we
have both wind and water dead against us. Half our men
clamber round the corner like cats, carrying the rope with
them; the rest keep the dahabeeyah off the bank with
punting poles. The rope strains — a pole breaks — we
struggle forward a few feet and can get no farther. Then
the men rest awhile; try again; and are again defeated.
So the fight goes on. The promeuade and the windows of

BEDRESHA TN TO MINIEH. 71

the mosque become gradually crowded with lookers on.
Some three or four cloaked and bearded men have chairs
brought and sit gravely smoking their chibouques on the
bank above, enjoying the entertainment. Meanwhile the
water-carriers come and go, filling their goat-skins at the
landing-place; donkeys and camels are brought down to
drink; girls in dark-blue gowns and coarse black veils come
with huge water-jars laid sidewise upon their heads and,
having filled and replaced them upright, walk away with
stately steps, as if each ponderous vessel were a crown.

So the day passes. Driven back again and again, but
still resolute, our sailors, by dint of sheer doggedness, get
us round the bad corner at last. The Bagstones follows
suit a little later; and we both moor about a quarter of a
mile above the town. Then follows a night of adventures.
Again our guards sleep profoundly; but the bad characters
of Beni Suef are very wide awake. One gentleman, actu-
ated no doubt by the friendliest motives, pays a midnight
visit to the Bagstones; but being detected, chased and fired
at, escapes by jumping overboard. Our turn comes about
two hours later, when the writer, happening to be awake,
hears a man swim softly round the Phila?. To strike a
light and frighten everybody into sudden activity is the
work of a moment. The whole boat is instantly in an up-
roar. Lanterns are lighted on deck; a patrol of sailors is
set; Talhamy loads his gun; and the thief slips away in
the dark like a fish.

The guards, of course, slept sweetly through it all.
Honest fellows! They were paid a shilling a night to do
it and they had nothing on their minds.

Having lodged a formal complaint next morning against
the inhabitants of the town, we received a visit from a sal-
low personage clad in a long black robe and a voluminous
white turban. This was the chief of the guards. He
smoked a great many pipes ; drank numerous cups of
coffee; listened to all we had to say ; looked wise ; and
finally suggested that the number of our guards should be
doubled.

I ventured to object that if they slept unanimously forty
would not be of much more use than four. Whereupon
he rose, drew himself to his full height, touched his beard
and said with a magnificent melodramatic air: " If they
sleep they shall be bastinadoed till they die \"

72 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

And now our good luck seemed to have deserted us.
For three days and nights the adverse wind continued to
blow with such force that the men could not even track
against it. Moored under that dreary bank, we saw our
ten days' start melting away and could only make the best
of our misfortunes. Happily the long island close by and
the banks on both sides of the river were populous with
sand-grouse ; so Alfred went out daily with his faithful
George and his unerring gun and brought home game in
abundance, while we took long walks, sketched boats and
camels and chaffered with native women for silver torques
and bracelets. These torques (in Arabic Toh) are tubular
but massive, penannular, about as thick as one's little
finger and finished with a hook at one end and a twisted
loop at the other. The girls would sometimes put their
veils aside and make a show of bargaining; but more fre-
quently, after standing for a moment with great wonder-
ing black velvety eyes staring shyly into ours, they would
take fright like a troop of startled deer and vanish with
shrill cries, half of laughter, half of terror.

At Beni Suef we encountered our first sand-storm. It
came down the river about noon, showing like a yellow fog
on the horizon and rolling rapidly before the wind. It
tore the river into angry waves and blotted out the land-
scape as it came. The distant hills disappeared first; then
the palms beyond the island; then the boats close by.
Another second and the air was full of sand. The whole
surface of the plain seemed in motion. The banks rip-
pled. The yellow dust poured down through every rift
and cleft in hundreds of tiny cataracts. But it was a sight
not to be looked upon with impunity. Hair, eyes, mouth,
ears, were instantly filled and we were driven to take
refuge in the saloon. Here, although every window and
door had been shut before the storm came, the sand found
its way in clouds. Books, papers, carpets, were covered
with it; and it settled again as fast as it was cleared away.
This lasted just one hour, and was followed by a burst of
heavy rain; after which the sky cleared and we had a lovely
afternoon. From this time forth, we saw no more rain in
Egypt.

At length, on the morning of the fourth day after our
first appearance at Beni Suef and the seventh since leaving
Cairo, the wind veered round again to the north, and we

BEDRESI1A 7N TO MINIEH. 73

once more got under way. It was delightful to see the big
sail again towering up overhead, and to hear the swish of
the water under the cabin windows; but we were still one
hundred and nine miles from Rhoda, and we knew that
nothing but an extraordinary run of luck could possibly get
us there by the twenty-third of the month, with time to see
Beni Hassan on the way. Meanwhile, however, we make
fair progress, mooring at sunset when the wind falls, about
three miles north of Bibbeh. Next day, by help of the
same light breeze which again springs up a little after dawn,
we go at a good pace between flat banks, fringed here and
there with palms, and studded with villages more or less
picturesque. There is not much to see, and yet one never
wants for amusement. Now wTe pass an island of sand-
bank covered with snow-white paddy-birds, which rise tu-
multuously at our approach. Next comes Bibbeh, perched
high along the edge of the precipitous bank, its odd-look-
ing Coptic convent roofed all over with little mud domes,
like a cluster of earth-bubbles. By and by we pass a de-
serted sugar factory, with shattered windows and a huge,
gaunt, blackened chimney, worthy of Birmingham or
Sheffield. And now we catch a glimpse of the railway
and hear the last scream of a departing engine. At night,
we moor within sight of the factory chimneys and hy-
draulic tubes of Magagha, and next day get on nearly to
Golosaneh, which is the last station-town before Minieh.

It is now only too clear that we must give up all thought
of pushing on to Beni Hassan before the rest of the party
shall come on board. We have reached the evening of our
ninth day; we are still forty-eight miles from Rhoda; and
another adverse wind might again delay us indefinitely on
the way. All risks taken into account, we decide to put
off our meeting till the twenty-fourth, and transfer the
appointment to Minieh; thus giving ourselves time to track
all the way in case of need. So an Arabic telegram is con-
cocted, and our fleet runner starts off with it to Golosaneh
before the office closes for the night.

The breeze, however, does not fail, but comes back next
morning with the dawn. Having passed Golosaneh, we
come to a wide reach in the river, at which point we are
honored by a visit from a Moslem santon of peculiar sanc-
tity, named " Holy Sheik Cotton." Now Holy Sheik
Cotton, who is a well-fed, healthy-looking young man of

74 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

about thirty, makes his first appearance swimming, with
his garments twisted into a huge turban on the top of his
head, and only his chin above water. Having made his
toilet in the small boat, he presents himself on deck and
receives an enthusiastic welcome. Rei's Hassan hugs him
— the pilot kisses him — the sailors come up one by one,
bringing little tributes of tobacco and piasters, which he
accepts with the air of a pope receiving Peter's pence.
All dripping as he is, and smiling like an affable Triton, he
next proceeds to touch the tiller, the ropes, and the ends
of the yards, "in order/' says Talhamy, "to make them
holy;" and then, with some kind of final charm or mut-
tered incantation, he plunges into the river again, and
swims off to repeat the same performance on board the Bag-
stones.

From this moment the prosperity of our voyage is as-
sured. The captain goes about with a smile on his stern
face, and the crew look as happy as if we had given them
a guinea. For nothing can go wrong with a dahabeeyah
that has been " made holy" by Holy Sheik Cotton. We
are certain now to have favorable winds — to pass the cat-
aract without accident — to come back in health and safety,
as we set out. But what, it may be asked, has Holy Sheik
Cotton done to make his blessing so efficacious? He gets
money in plenty; he fasts no oftener than other Moham-
medans; he has two wives; he never does a stroke of work;
and he looks the picture of sleek prosperity. Yet he is a
saint of the first water; and when he dies, miracles will be
performed at his tomb, and his eldest son will succeed him
in the business.

We had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with a good
many saints in the course of our eastern travels; but I do
not know that we ever found they had done anything to
merit the position. One very horrible old man named
Sheik Saleem has, it is true, been sitting on a dirt heap
near Farslmt, unclothed, unwashed, unshaven, for the last
half-century or more, never even lifting his hand to his
mouth to feed himself; but Sheik Cotton had gone to no
such pious lengths, and was not even dirty.

We are by this time drawing toward a range of yellow
cliffs that have long been visible on the horizon, and which
figure in the maps as G-ebel et Tayr. The Arabian desert
has been closing up on the eastern bank for some time

BEDRESHA YN TO MINIE1I. 75

past and now rolls on in undulating drifts to the water's
edge. Yellow bowlders crop out here and there above the
mounded sand, which looks as if it might cover many a
forgotten temple. Presently the clay bank is gone and a
low barrier of limestone rock, black and shiny next the
water-line, has taken its place. And now, a long way
ahead, where the river bends and the level cliffs lead on
into the far distance, a little brown speck is pointed out as
the Convent of the Pulley. Perched on the brink of the
precipice it looks no bigger than an ant-heap. "We had
heard much of the fine view to be seen from the platform
on which this convent is built, and it had originally
entered into our programme as a place to be visited on the
way. But Minieh has to be gained now at all costs; so
this project has to be abandoned with a sigh.

And now the rocky barrier rises higher, quarried here
and there in dazzling gaps of snow-white cuttings. And
now the convent shows clearer ; and the cliffs become
loftier; and the bend in the river is reached; and a long
perspective of flat-topped precipice stretches away into the
dim distance.

It is a day of saints and swimmers. As the dahabeeyah
approaches, a brown poll is seen bobbing up and down in
the water a few hundred yards ahead. Then one, two,
three bronze figures clash down a steep ravine below the
convent walls, and plunge into the river — a shrill chorus
of voices, growing momentarily more audible, is borne
upon the wind — and in a few minutes the boat is beset by
a shoal of medicant monks, vociferating with all their
might "Ana Christian ya Ilawadji! — Ana Christian ya
Hawadji!" ("I am a Christian, oh, traveler!") As these are
only Coptic monks and not Moslem santons, the sailors, half
in rough play, half in earnest, drive them off with punting
poles; and only one shivering, streaming object, wrapped
in a borrowed blanket, is allowed to come on board. He
is a fine, shapely man, aged about forty, with splendid eyes
and teeth, a well-formed head, a skin the color of a copper
beech-leaf, and a face expressive of such ignorance, tim-
idity, and half-savage watchfulness as makes one's heart
ache.

And this is a Copt; a descendant of the true Egyptian
stock; one of those whose remote ancestors exchanged the
worship of the old gods for Christianity under the rule of

% A THOUSAND MILES VP THE NILE.

Theodosius some fifteen hundred years ago, and whose
blood is supposed to be purer of Mohammedan intermixture
than any in Egypt. Remembering these things, it is im-
possible to look at him without a feeling of profound in-
terest. It may be only fancy, yet I think I see in him a
different type to that of the Arab — a something, however
slight, which recalls the sculptured figures in the tomb
of Ti.

But while we are thinking about his magnificent pedi-
gree, our poor Copt's teeth are chattering piteously. So
we give him a shilling or two for the sake of all that he
represents in the history of the world; and with these and
the donation of an empty bottle, he swims away contented,
crying out again and again: " Ketther-Jchayrak Sittdt!
KeWier-MdyrakTceteer!" ("Thank you, ladies! thank you
much!")

And now the convent with its clustered domes is passed
and left behind. The rock here is of the same rich tawny
hue as at Turra, and the horizontal strata of which it is
composed have evidently been deposited by water. That
the Nile must at some remote time have flowed here at an
immensely higher level seems also probable ; for the whole
face of the range is honeycombed and water-worn for miles
in succession. Seeing how these fantastic forms — arched,
and clustered, and pendent — resemble the recessed orna-
mentation of Saracenic buildings, I could not help won-
dering whether some early Arab architect might not once
upon a time have taken a hint from some such rocks as
these.

Thus the day wanes, and the level cliffs keep with us all
the way — now breaking into little lateral valleys and cvls-
de-sac in which nestle clusters of tiny huts and green
patches of lupin ; now plunging sheer down into the river;
now receding inland and leaving space for a belt of culti-
vated soil and a fringe of feathery palms. By and by
comes the sunset, when every cast shadow in the recesses
of the cliffs turns to pure violet; and the face of the rock
glows with a ruddier gold; and the palms on the western
bank stand up in solemn bronze against a crimson horizon.
Then the sun dips, and instantly the whole range of
cliffs turns to a dead, greenish gray, while the sky
above and behind them is as suddenly suffused with
pink. When this effect has lasted for something like

BED RES II A YN TO MINI EH.

t i

eight minutes, a vast arch of deep-blue shade, about
as large in diameter as a rainbow, creeps slowly up
the eastern horizon and remains distinctly visible as
long as the pink flush against which it is defined yet
lingers in the sky. Finally the flush fades out; the blue
becomes uniform; the stars begin to show; and only a
broad glow in the west marks which way the sun went
down. About a quarter of an hour later comes the after-
glow, when for a few minutes the sky is filled with a soft,
magical light, and the twilight gloom lies warm upon the
landscape. When this goes it is night; but still one long
beam of light streams up in the track of the sun and
remains visible for more than two hours after the darkness
has closed in.

Such is the sunset we see this evening as we approach
Minieh; and such is the sunset we are destined to see, with
scarcely a shade of difference, at the same hour and under
precisely the same conditions for many a month to come.
It is very beautiful, very tranquil, full of wonderful light
and most suble gradations of tone, and attended by certain
phenomena of which I shall have more to say presently;
but it lacks the variety and gorgeousness of our northern
skies. Nor, given the dry atmosphere of Egypt, can it be
otherwise. Those who go up the Nile expecting, as I did,
to see magnificent Turneresque pageants of purple, and
flame-color, and gold, will be disappointed as I was. For
your Turneresque pageant cannot be achieved without such
accessories of cloud and vapor as in Nubia are wholly
unknown, and in Egypt are of the rarest occurrence.
Once, and only once, in the course of an unusually pro-
tracted sojourn on the river, had we the good fortune to
witness a grand display of the kind; and then we had been
nearly three months in the dahabeeyah.

Meanwhile, however, we never weary of these stainless
skies, but find in them, evening after evening, fresh depths
of beauty and repose. As for that strange transfer of color
from the mountains to the sky, we had repeatedly observed
it while traveling in the Dolomites the year before, and
had always found it take place, as now, at the moment of
the sun's first disappearance. But what of this mighty
after-shadow, climbing half the heavens and bringing
night with it ? Can it be the rising shadow of the world
projected on the one horizon as the sun sinks on the other?

78 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

I leave the problem for wiser travelers to solve. We had
not science enough among us to account for it.

That same evening, just as the twilight came on, we saw
another wonder — the new moon on the first night of her
first quarter; a perfect orb, dusky, distinct, and outlined
all round with a thread of light no thicker than a hair.
Nothing could be more brilliant than this tiny l'im of
flashing silver; while every detail of the softly glowing
globe within its compass was clearly visible. Tycho, with
its vast crater, showed like a volcano on a raised map ; and
near the edge of the moon's surface, where the light and
shadow met, keen sparkles of mountain-summits catching
the light and relieved against the dusk were to be seen by
the naked eye. Two or three evenings later, however,
when the silver ring was changed to a broad crescent, the
unilluminated part was as if it were extinguished, and could
no longer be discerned even by help of a glass.

The wind having failed as usual at sunset, the crew set to
work with a will and punted the rest of the way, so bring-
ing us to Minieh about nine that night. Next morning
we found ourselves moored close under the khedive's sum-
mer palace — so close that one could have tossed a pebble
against the lattice windows of his highness' hareem. A fat
gate-keeper sat outside in the sun, smoking his morning
chibouque and gossiping with the passers by. A narrow
promenade scantily planted with sycamore figs ran between
the palace and the river. A steamer or two, and a crowd
of native boats, lay moored under the bank; and yonder,
at the farther end of the promenade, a minaret and a
cluster of whitewashed houses showed which way one must
turn in going to the town.

It chanced to be market-day; so we saw Minieh under
its best aspect, than which nothing could well be more
squalid, dreary, and depressing. It was like a town
dropped unexpectedly into the midst of a plowed field ;
the streets being mere trodden lanes of mud dust, and the
houses a succession of windowless mud prisons with their
backs to the thoroughfare. The bazaar, which consists of
two or three lanes a little wider than the rest, is roofed
over here and there with rotting palm-rafters and bits of
tattered matting ; while the market is held in a space of
waste ground outside the town. The former, with its
little cupboard-like shops, in which the merchants sit cross-

BEDRES1IAYN TO MINIEH. 79

legged like shabby old idols in shabby old shrines — the
ill-furnished shelves — the familiar Manchester goods — the
gaudy native stuffs — the old red saddles and faded rugs
hanging up for sale — the smart Greek stores where Bass'
ale, claret, curacoa, Cyprus, Vermouth, cheese, pickles,
sardines, Worcester sauce, blacking, biscuits, preserved
meats, candles, cigars, matches, sugar, salt, stationery
fire-works, jams, and patent medicines can all be bought at
one fell swoop — the native cook's shop exhaling savory
perfumes of Kebabs and lentil soup, and presided over by
an Abyssinian Soyer blacker than the blackest historical
personage ever was painted — the surging, elbowing, clam-
orous crowd — the donkeys, the camels, the street-cries, the
chatter, the dust, the flies, the fleas, and the dogs, all put
us in mind of the poorer quarters of Cairo. In the
market it is even worse. Here are hundreds of country
folk sitting on the ground behind their baskets of fruits
and vegetables. Some have eggs, butter, and buffalo-
cream for sale, while others sell sugar-canes, limes, cab-
bages, tobacco, barley, dried lentils, split beans, maize,
wheat, and dura. The women go to and fro with bouquets
of live poultry. The chickens scream ; the sellers rave ;
the buyers bargain at the top of their voices; the dust flies
in clouds; the sun pours down floods of light and heat;
you can scarcely hear yourself speak ; and the crowd is as
dense as that other crowd which at this very moment, on
this very Christmas eve, is circulating among the alleys of
Leaden hall Market.

The things were very cheap. A hundred eggs cost about
fourteen pence in English money ; chickens sold for five
pence each; pigeons from two-pence to two-pence-half-penny;
and fine live geese for two shillings a head. The turkeys,
however, which were large and excellent, were priced as
high as three-and-sixpence ; being about half as much as
one pays in Middle and Upper Egypt for a lamb. A good
sheep may be bought for sixteen shillings or a pound. The
M. B.'s, who had no dragoman and did their own market-
ing, were very busy here, laying in stores of fresh pro-
vision, bargaining fluently in Arabic, and escorted by a
body-guard of sailors.

A solitary dom palm, the northernmost of its race and
the first specimen one meets with on the Nile, grows in a
garden adjoining this market-place ; but we could scarcely

80 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

see it for the blinding- dust. Now, a dom palm is just the
sort of tree that De Wint should have painted — odd, angu-
lar, with long forked stems, each of which terminates in a
shock-headed crown of stiff finger-like fronds shading
heavy clusters of big shiny nuts about the size of Jerusalem
artichokes. It is, I suppose, the only nut in the world of
which one throws away the kernel and eats the shell ; but
the kernel is as hard as marble, while the shell is fibrous,
and tastes like stale gingerbread. The dom palm must
bifurcate, for bifurcation is the law of its being; but 1
could never discover whether there was any fixed limit to
the number of stems into which it might subdivide. At
the same time, I do not remember to have seen any with
less than two heads or more than six.

Coming back through the town, we were accosted by a
withered one-eyed hag like a reanimated mummy,
who offered to tell our fortunes. Before her lay a dirty
rag of handkerchief full of shells, pebbles and chips of
broken glass and pottery. Squatting, toad-like, under a
sunny bit of wall, the lower part of her face closely veiled,
her skinny arms covered with blue and green glass brace-
lets and her fingers with misshapen silver rings, she hung
over these treasures, shook, mixed and interrogated them
with all the fervor of divination, and delivered a string of
the prophecies usually forthcoming on these occasions.

" You have a friend faraway, and your friend is think-
ing of you. There is good fortune in store for you; and
money coming to you; and pleasant news on the way. You
will soon receive letters in which there will be something
to vex you, but more to make you glad. Within thirty
days you will unexpectedly meet one whom you dearly
love," etc., etc., etc.

It was just the old familiar story, retold in Arabic, with
out even such variations as might have been expected from
the lips of an old felhiha born and bred in a provincial
town of Middle Egypt.

It may be that ophthalmia especially prevailed in this part
of the country, or that, being brought unexpectedly into
the midst of a large crowd, one observed the people more
narrowly, but I certainly never saw so many one-eyed
human beings as that morning at Minieh. There must
have been present in the streets and market-place from ten
to twelve thousand natives of all ages, and I believe it is no

BEDRESHA YN TO MINIEH. 81

exaggeration to say that at least every twentieth person, down
to little toddling children of three and four years of age,
was blind of an eye. Not being a particularly well-favored
race, this defect added the last touch of repulsiveness to
faces already sullen, ignorant and unfriendly. A more
unprepossessing population I would never wish to see — the
men half stealthy, half insolent; the women bold and
fierce ; the children filthy, sickly, stunted and stolid.
Nothing in provincial Egypt is so painful to witness as the
neglected condition of very young children. Those be-
longing to even the better class are for the most part shab-
bily clothed and of more than doubtful cleanliness; while
the offspring of the very poor are simply incrusted with
dirt and sores and swarming with vermin. It is at first
hard to believe that the parents of these unfortunate babies
err, not from cruelty, but through sheer ignorance and
superstition. Yet so it is; and the time when these people
can be brought to comprehend the most elementary prin-
ciples of sanitary reform is yet far distant. To wash young
children is injurious to health, therefore the mothers suf-
fer them to fall into a state of personal uncleauliness,
which is alone enough to engender disease. To brush
away the flies that beset their eyes is impious; hence oph-
thalmia and various kinds of blindness. I have seen in-
fants lying in their mothers' arms with six or eight flies in
each eye. I have seen the little helpless hands put down
reprovingly if they approached the seat of annoyance. I
have seen children of four and five years old with the surface
of one or both eyes eaten away; and others with a large,
fleshy lump growing out where the pupil had been de-
stroyed. Taking these things into account, the wonder is,
after all, not that three children should die in Egypt out of
every five — not that each twentieth person in certain dis-
tricts should be blind, or partially blind; but that so many
as forty per cent of the whole infant population should
actually live to grow up, and that ninety-five per
cent should enjoy the blessing of sight. For my own part
I had not been many weeks on the Nile before I began sys-
tematically to avoid going about the native towns when-
ever it was practicable to do so. That I may so have lost
an opportunity of now and then seeing more of the street-
life of the people is very probable; but such outside
glimpses are of little real value, and I at all events escaped

82 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE.

the sight of much poverty, sickness and squalor. The con-
dition of the inhabitants is not worse, perhaps, in an
Egyptian beled* than in many an Irish village; but the
condition of the children is so distressing that one would
willingly go any number of miles out of the way rather
than witness their suffering, without the power to alleviate
it.f

If the population in and about Minieh are personally
unattractive, their appearance at all events matches their
reputation, which is as bad as that of their neighbors. Of
the manners and customs of Beni Suef we had already
some experience; while public opinion charges Minieh,
Rhoda and most of the towns and villages north of Siut
with the like marauding propensities. As for the villages
at the foot of Beni Hassan, they have been mere dens of
thieves for many generations; and though razed to the
ground some years ago by way of punishment, are now
rebuilt and in as bad odor as ever. It is necessary, there-
fore, in all this part of the river, not only to hire guards
at night, but, when the boat is moored, to keep a sharp
lookout against thieves by day. In Upper Egypt it is very
different. There the natives are good-looking, good-
natured, gentle and kindly; and though clever enough at
manufacturing and selling modern antiquities, are not
otherwise dishonest.

That same evening (it was Christmas eve), nearly two
hours earlier than their train was supposed to be due, the
rest of our party arrived at Minieh.

* Beled — village.

+ Miss Whately, whose evidence on this subject is peculiarly valu-
able, states that the majority of native children die off at, or under,
two years of age ("Among the Huts," p. 29); while M. About, who
en]oved unusual opportunities of inquiring into facts connected with
the population and resources of the country, says that the nation
loses three children out of every five. " L'ignorance publique,
I'oubli des premiers elements d'hygiene, la mauvaise alimentation,
l'absence presque totale des soins medicaux, tarissent la nation dans
sa source. Un peuple qui perd regulierement trios enfants sur cinq
ne saurait croitre sans miracle." — " Le Fellah," p. 165.

MINIEU TO SIUT. 83

CHAPTER VI.

MINIEH TO SIUT.

It is Christmas day. The M. B.'s are coming to

dinner; the cooks are up to their eyes in entrees; the crew
are treated to a sheep in honor of the occasion; the new-
comers are unpacking; and we are all gradually settling-
down into our respective places. Now the new-comers
consist of four persons: a painter, a happy couple and a
maid. The painter has already been up the Nile three
times and brings a fund of experience into the council.
He knows all about sand-banks and winds and mooriug-
places; is acquainted with most of the native governors
and consuls along the river; and is great on the subject of
what to eat, drink and avoid. The stern-cabin is given to
him for a studio and contains frames, canvases, drawing-
paper and easels enough to start a provincial school of art.
He is going to paint a big picture at Aboo-Simbel. The
happy couple it is unnecessary to say are on their wedding
tour. In point of fact, they have not yet been married a
month. The bridegroom is what the world chooses to call
an idle man; that is to say, he has scholarship, delicate
health and leisure. The bride, for convenience, shall be
called the little lady. Of people who are struggling
through that helpless phase of human life called the honey-
moon, it is not fair to say more than that they are both
young enough to make the situation interesting.

Meanwhile the deck must be cleared of the new luggage
that has come on board and the day passes in a confusion
of unpacking, arranging and putting away. Such running
to and fro as there is down below; such turning-out of
boxes and knocking-up of temporary shelves; such talking,
and laughing, and hammering ! Nor is the bustle con-
fined to dowus-tairs. Talhamy and the waiters are just as
busy above, adorning the upper deck with palm branches
and hanging the boat all round with rows of colored lau-

84 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE.

terns. One can hardly believe, however, that it is Christ-
mas day — that there are fires blazing at home in every
room; that the church field, perhaps, is white with snow;
and that familiar bells are ringing merrily across the frosty
air. Here at midday it is already too hot on deck without
the awning, and when we moor toward sunset near a river-
side village in a grove of palms, the cooler air of evening
is delicious.

There is novelty in even such a commonplace matter as
dining out, on the Nile. You go and return in your fe-
lucca, as if it were a carriage; and your entertainers sum-
mon you by firing a dinner gun, instead of sounding a
gong. Wise people who respect the feelings of their cooks
fire a dressing gun as well; for watches soon differ in a
hopeless way for want of the church clock to set them by,
and it is always possible that host and guest may be an
hour or two apart in their reckoning.

The customary guns having therefore been fired and
the party assembled, we sat down to one of cook Beda-
wee's prodigious banquets. Not, however, till the plum-
pudding, blazing demoniacally, appeared upon the scene,
did any of us succeed in believing that it was really Christ-
mas day.

Nothing could be prettier or gayer than the spectacle
that awaited us when we rose from table. A hundred and
fifty colored lanters outlined the boat from end to end,
sparkled up the masts, and cast broken reflections in the
moving current. The upper-deck, hung with flags and partly
closed in with awnings, looked like a bower of palms. The
stars and the crescent moon shone overhead. Dim outlines
of trees and headlands, and a vague perspective of gleam-
ing river, were visible in the distance; while a light gleamed
now and then in the direction of the village, or a dusky
figure flitted along the bank.

Meanwhile, there was a sound of revelry by night; for
our sailors had invited the Bagstones' crew to unlimited
coffee and tobacco, and had quite a large party on the lower
deck. They drummed, they sang, they danced, they
dressed up, improvised a comic scene, and kept their audi-
ence in a roar. Reis Hassan did the honors. George,
Talhamy and the maids sat apart at the second table and
sipped their coffee genteelly. We looked on and applauded.
At ten o'clock a pan of magnesium powder was burned,

MINIEII TO 8IUT. 85

and our fantasia ended with a blaze of light, like a pan-
tomime.

In Egypt, by the way, any entertainment which is en-
livened by music, dancing, or fire-works is called a fan-
tasia.

And now, sometimes sailing, sometimes tracking, some-
times punting, we go on day by day, making what speed
we can. Things do not, of course, always fall out exactly
as one would have them. The wind too often fails when
we most need it, and gets up when there is something to
be seen on shore. Thus, after a whole morning of track-
ing, we reach Beni Hassan at the moment when a good
breeze has suddenly filled our sails for the first time in
forty-eight hours; and so, yielding to counsels which we
afterward deplored, we pass on with many a longing look
at the terraced doorways pierced along the cliffs. At
Rhoda, in the same way, we touch for only a few minutes
to post and inquire for letters, and put off till our return
the inland excursion to Dayr el Nakhl, where is to be
seen the famous painting of the Colossus on the Sledge.
But sights deferred are fated sometimes to remain unseen,
as we found by and by to our exceeding loss and regret.

Meanwhile, the skies are always cloudless, the days
warm, the evenings exquisite. We of course live very
much in the open air. When there is no wind, we land
and take long walks by the river side. When on board,
we sketch, write letters, read Champollion, Bunsen, and
Sir Gardner Wilkinson: and work hard at Egyptian dy-
nasties. The sparrows and water-wagtails perch familiarly
on the awnings and hop about the deck; the cocks and
hens chatter, the geese cackle, the turkeys gobble in their
coops close by; and our sacrificial sheep, leading a solitary
life in the felucca, conies baaing in the rear. Sometimes
we have as many as a hundred chickens on board (to say
nothing of pigeons and rabbits) and two or even three
sheep in the felucca. The poultry-yard is railed off, how-
ever, at the extreme end of the stern, so that the creatures
are well away from the drawing-room; and when we moor
at a suitable place, they are let out for a few hours to peck

about the banks and enjoy their liberty. L and the little

lady feed these hapless prisoners with breakfast-scraps
every morning, to the profound amusement of the steers-
man, who, unable to conceive any other motive, imagines
they are fatting them for the table.

86 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Such is our Noah's ark life — pleasant, peaceful and
patriarchal. Even on days when there is little to see and
nothing to do it is never dull. Trifling incidents which
have for us the excitement of novelty are continually oc-
curring. Other dahabeeyahs, their flags and occupants, are
a constant source of interest. Meeting at mooring-places
for the night, we now and then exchange visits. Passing
each other by day we dip ensigns, fire salutes, and punc-
tiliously observe the laws of maritime etiquette. Some-
times a Cook's excursion steamer hurries by crowded with
tourists; or a government tug towing three or four great
barges closely packed with wretched-looking, half-naked
fellaheen bound for forced labor on some new railway or
canal. Occasionally we pass a dahabeeyah sticking fast
upon a sand-bank; and sometimes we stick on one ourselves.
Then the men fly to their punting poles or jump into the
river like water-dogs, and, grunting in melancholy cadence,
shove the boat off with their shoulders.

The birds, too, are new, and we are always looking out
for them. Perhaps we see a top-heavy pelican balancing
his huge yellow bill over the edge of the stream and fishing
for his dinner — or a flight of wild geese trailing across the
sky toward sunset — or a select society of vultures perched
all in a row upon a ledge of rock and solemn as the bench
of bishops. Then there are the herons who stand on one
leg and doze in the sun; the strutting hoopoes with their
legendary top-knots; the blue and green bee-eaters hover-
ing over the uncut dura. The pied kingfisher, black and
white like a magpie, sits fearlessly under the bank and
never stirs, though the tow-rope swings close above his
head and the dahabeeyah glides within a few feet of the
shore. The paddy-birds whiten the sand-banks by hun-
dreds and rise in a cloud at our approach. The sacred
hawk, circling overhead, utters the same sweet, piercing,
melancholy note that the Pharaohs listened to of old.

The scenery is for the most part of the ordinary Nile
pattern; and for many a mile we see the same things over
and over again — the level bank shelving down steeply to
the river; the strip of cultivated soil, green with maize or
tawny with dura; the frequent mud-village and palm-grove;
the deserted sugar factory with its ungainly chimney and
shattered windows; the water-wheel slowly revolving with
its necklace of pots; the shaduf worked by two brown

MINIE1I TO SIUT. 87

athletes; the file of laden camels; the desert, all sand-hills
and sand-plains, with its background of mountains; the
long reach and the gleaming sail ahead. Sometimes, how-
ever, as at Kom Ah mar, we skirt the ancient brick mounds
of some forgotten city, with fragments of arched founda-
tions, and even of walls and doorways, reaching down to
the water's edge; or, sailing close under ranges of huge
perpendicular cliffs, as at Gebel Abufayda, startle the cor-
morants from their haunts, and peer as we pass into the
dim recesses of many a rock-cut tomb excavated just above
the level of the inundation.

This Gebel Abufayda has a bad name for sudden winds;
especially at the beginning and end of the range, where
the Nile bends abruptly and the valley opens out at right
angles to the river. It is fine to see Rei's Hassan, as we
approach one of the worst of these bad bits — a point where
two steep ravines divided by a bold headland command the
passage like a pair of grim cannon, and rake it with blasts
from the northeastern desert. Here the current, flowing
deep and strong, is met by the wind and runs high in
crested waves. Our little captain, kicking off his shoes,
himself springs up the rigging and there stands silent and
watchful. The sailors, ready to shift our mainsail at the
word of command, cling some to the shoghool* and some
to the end of the yard ; the boat tears on before the wind ;
the great bluff looms up darker and nearer. Then comes
a breathless moment. Then a sharp, sudden word from
the little man in the main rigging ; a yell and a whoop
from the sailors; a slow, heavy lurch of the flapping sail; and
the corner is turned in safety.

The cliffs are very fine ; much loftier and less uniform
than at Gebel et Tayr ; rent into strange forms, as of
sphinxes, cheesewrings, towers, and bastions ; honey-
combed with long ranges of rock-cut tombs ; and under-
mined by water-washed caverns in which lurk a few linger-
ing crocodiles. If at Gebel et Tayr the rock is worn into
semblances of arabesque ornamentation, here it looks as if
inscribed all over with mysterious records in characters
not unlike the Hebrew. Records they are, too, of pre-
historic days — chronicles of his own deeds carved by the
great god Nile himself, the Hapimu of ancient time — but

*Arabic — shoghool : a rope by which the mainsail is regulated.

88 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the language in which they are written has never been
spoken by man.

As for the rock-cut tombs of Gebel Abufayda, they must
number many hundreds. For nearly twelve miles the
range runs parallel to the river, and throughout that
distance the face of the cliffs is pierced with innumerable
doorways. Some are small and square, twenty or thirty
together, like rows of port-holes. Others are isolated.
Some are cut so high up that they must have been
approached from above; others again come close upon the
level of the river. Some of the doorways are faced to rep-
resent jambs and architraves ; some, excavated laterally,
appear to consist of a series of chambers, and are lit from
without by small windows cut in the rock. One is
approached by a flight of rough steps leading up from the
water's edge; and another, hewn high in the face of the
cliff, just within the mouth of a little ravine, shows a
simple but imposing facade supported by four detached
pillars. No modern travelers seem to visit these tombs ;
while those of the old school, as Wilkinson, Champollion,
etc., dismiss them with a few observations. Yet, with the
single exception of the mountains behind Thebes, there is
not, I believe, any one spot in Egypt which contains such
a multitude of sepulchral excavations. Many look, indeed,
as if they might belong to the same interesting and early
epoch as those of Beni Hassan.

I may here mention that about half-way, or rather less
than half-way, along the whole length of the range I
observed two large hieroglyphed stelaa incised upon the
face of a projecting mass of boldly rounded cliff at a
height of perhaps a hundred and fifty feet above the river.
These stelae, apparently royal ovals, and sculptured as
usual side by side, may have measured from twelve to
fifteen feet in height ; but in the absence of any near
object by which to scale them, I could form but a rough
guess as to their actual dimensions. The boat was just
then going so fast that to sketch or take notes of the
hieroglyphs was impossible. Before I could adjust my
glass they were already in the rear ; and by the time I had
called the rest of the party together they were no longer
distinguishable.

Coming back several months later, I looked for them
again, but without success; for the intense midday sun was

MINIEI1 TO S1UT. 89

then pouring full upon the rocks, to the absolute oblitera-
tion of everything like shallow detail. While watching
vainly, however, for the stela?, I was compensated by the
unexpected sight of a colossal bas-relief high up on the
northward face of a cliff standing, so to say, at the corner
of one of those little recesses or culs-de-sac which here and
there break the uniformity of the range. The sculptural
relief of this large subject was apparently very low ; but,
owing to the angle at which it met the light, one figure,
which could not have measured less than eighteen or
twenty feet in height, was distinctly visible. I imme-
diately drew L — — 's attention to the spot; and she not only
discerned the figure without the help of a glass, but
believed like myself that she could see traces of a second.

As neither the stela? nor the bas-relief would seem to
have been observed by previous travelers, I may add for the
guidance of others that the round and tower-like rock
upon which the former are sculptured lies about a mile to
the southward of the sheik's tomb and palm-tree (a
strikingly picturesque bit which no one can fail to notice),
and a little beyond some very large excavations near the
water's edge; while the bas-relief is to be found at a short
distance below the Coptic convent and cemetery.

Having for nearly twelve miles skirted the base of Gebel
Abufayda — by far the finest panoramic stretch of rock
scenery on this side of the second cataract — the Nile takes
an abrupt bend to the eastward, and thence flows through
many miles of cultivated flat. One coming to this sudden
elbow the wind, which had hitherto been carrying us along
at a pace but little inferior to that of a steamer, now struck us
full on the beam and drove the boat to shore with such
violence that all the steersman could do was just to run
the Philas's nose into the bank and steer clear of some ten
or twelve native cangias that had been driven in before us.
The Bagstones rushed in next; and presently a large iron-
built dahabeeyah, having come gallantly along under the
cliffs with all sail set, was seen to make a vain struggle at
the fatal corner, and then plunge headlong at the bank,
like King Agib's ship upon the Loadstone Mountain.

Imprisoned here all the afternoon, we exchanged visits
of condolence with our neighbors in misfortune; had our
ears nearly cut to pieces by the driving sand; and failed
signally in the endeavor to take a walk onshore. Still the

90 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

fury of the storm went on increasing. The wind howled;
the river raced in turbid waves; the sand drove in clouds;
and the face of the sky was darkened as if by a London
fog. Meanwhile, one boat after another was hurled to
shore, and before nightfall we numbered a fleet of some
twenty odd craft, native and foreign.

It took the united strength of both crews all next day to
•warp the Philas and Bagstones across the river by means
of a rope and an anchor; an expedient that deserves
special mention not for its amazing novelty or ingenuity,
but because our men declared it to be impracticable. Their
fathers, they said, had never done it. Their fathers'
fathers had never done it. Therefore it was impossible.
Being impossible, why should they attempt it ?

They did attempt it, however, and, much to their aston-
ishment, they succeeded.

It was, I think, toward the afternoon of this second
day, when, strolling by the margin of the river, that we
first made the acquaintance of that renowned insect, the
Egyptian beetle. He was a very fine specimen of his race,
nearly half an inch long in the back, as black and shiny as
a scarab cut in jet, and busily engaged in the preparation
of a large rissole of mud, which he presently began labo-
riously propelling up the bank. We stood and watched
him for some time, half in admiration, half in pity. His
rissole was at least four times bigger than himself, and to
roll it up that steep incline to a point beyond the level of
next summer's inundation was a labor of Hercules for so
small a creature. One longed to play the part of the Dens
ex machina and carry it up the bank for him; but that
would have been a denouement beyond his power of ap-
preciation.

We all know the old story of how this beetle lays its
eggs by the river's brink; incloses them in a ball of moist
clay; rolls the ball to a safe place on the edge of the desert;
buries it in the sand; and when his time comes, dies con-
tent, having provided for the safety of his successors.
Hence his mythic fame; hence all the quaint symbolism
that by degrees attached itself to his little person, and
ended by investing him with a special sacredness which
has often been mistaken for actual worship. Standing by
thus, watching the movements of the creature, its untiring
energy, its extraordinary muscular strength, its business-

MIN1EII TO srUT. 91

like devotion to the matter in hand, one sees how subtle a
lesson the old Egyptian moralists had presented to them
for contemplatation, and with how fine a combination of
wisdom and poetry they regarded this little black scarab
not only as an emblem of the creative and preserving
power, but perhaps also of the immortality of the soul.
As a type, no insect has ever had so much greatness thrust
upon him. He became a hieroglyph, and stood for a word
signifying both to be and to transform. His portrait was
multiplied a million-fold; sculptured over the portals of
temples; fitted to the shoulders of a god; engraved on
gems; molded in pottery; painted on sarcophagi and the walls
of tombs; worn by the living and buried with the dead.

Every traveler on the Nile brings away a handful of the
smaller scarabs, genuine or otherwise. Some may not partic-
ularly care to possess them; yet none can help buying them,
if only because other people do so, or to get rid of a trouble-
some dealer, or to give to friends at home. I doubt, how-
ever, if even the most enthusiastic scarab -fanciers really
feel in all its force the symbolism attaching to these little
gems, or appreciate the exquisite naturalness of their exe-
cution, till they have seen the living beetle at its work.

In Nubia, where the strip of cultivable land is generally
but a few feet in breadth, the scarab's task is compara-
tively light and the breed multiplies freely. But in
Egypt he has often a wide plain to traverse with his burden,
and is therefore scarce in proportion to the difficulty with
which he maintains the struggle for existence. The scarab
race in Egypt would seem indeed to have diminished very
considerably since the days of the Pharaohs, and the time
is not perhaps far distant when the naturalist will look in
vain for specimens on this side of the first cataract. As
far as my own experience goes, I can only say that I saw
scores of these beetles during the Nubian part of the
journey; but that to the best of my recollection this was
the only occasion upon which I observed one in Egypt.

The Nile makes four or five more great bends between
Gebel Abufayda and Siut; passing Manafalut by the way,
which town lies some distance back from the shore. All
things taken into consideration — the fitful wind that came
and went continually; the tremendous zigzags of the river;
the dead calm which befell us when only eight miles
from Siut; and the long day of tracking that followed,

92 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

Avith the town in sight the whole way — we thought our-
selves fortunate to get in hy the evening of the third day
after the storm. These last eight miles are, however, for
open, placid beauty, as lovely in their way as anything north
of Thebes. The valley is here very wide and fertile ; the
town, with its multitudinous minarets, appears first on one
side and then on the other, according to the windings of
the river; the distant pinky mountains look almost as
transparent as the air or the sunshine; while the banks
unfold an endless succession of charming little subjects,
every one of which looks as if it asked to be sketched as
we pass. A shadiif and a clump of palms — a triad of
shaggy black buffaloes, up to their shoulders in the river,
and dozing as they stand — a wide-spreading sycamore fig,
in the shade of which lie a man and camel asleep — a fallen
palm uprooted by the last inundation, with its fibrous
roots yet clinging to the bank and its crest in the water — a
group of sheiks' tombs with glistening white cupolas
relieved against a background of dark foliage — an old dis-
used water-wheel lying up sidewise against the bank like a
huge teetotom, and garlanded with wild tendrils of a gourd —
such are a few out of many bits by the way, which, if they
offer nothing very new, at all events present the old
material under fresh aspects, and in combination with a
distance of such ethereal light and shade, and such opal-
escent tenderness of tone, that it looks more like an air-
drawn mirage than a piece of the world we live in.

Like a mirage, too, that fairy town of Siut seemed
always to hover at the same unattainable distance and after
hours of tracking to be no nearer than at first. Some-
times, indeed, following the long reaches of the river, we
appeared to be leaving it behind; and although, as I have
said, we had eight miles of hard work to get to it, I doubt
whether it was ever more than three miles distant as the
bird flies. It wras late in the afternoon, however, when we
turned the last corner; and the sun was already setting
when the boat reached the village of Hamra, which is the
mooring-place for Siut — Siut itself, with clustered cupolas
and arrowy minarets, lying back in the plain at the foot
of a great mountain pierced with tombs.

Now, it was in the bond that our crew were to be allowed
twenty-four hours for making and baking bread at Siut,
Esneh and Assuan. No sooner, therefore, was the daha-

MINIEII TO SIUT. 93

beeyah moored than Reis Hassan and the steersman started
away at full speed on two little donkeys to buy flour; while
Mehemet Ali, one of our most active and intelligent
sailors, rushed off to hire the oven. For here, as at Esneh
and Assuan, there are large flour stores and public bake-
houses for the use of sailors on the river, who make and
bake their bread in large lots; cut it into slices ; dry it in
the sun; and preserve it in the form of rusks for months
together. Thus prepared, it takes the place of ship-biscuit;
and it is so far superior to ship-biscuit that it neither
molds nor breeds the maggot, but remains good and
wholesome to the last crumb.

Siut, frequently written Asyoot, is the capital of Middle
Egypt and has the best bazaars of any town up the Nile.
Its red and black pottery is famous throughout the coun-
try; and its pipe-bowls (supposed to be the best in the
east), being largely exported to Cairo, find their way not
only to all parts of the Levant, but to every Algerine and
Japanese shop in London and Paris. No lover of peasant
pottery will yet have forgotten the Egyptian stalls in the
ceramic gallery of the international exhibition of 1871.
All those quaint red vases and lustrous black tazzas, all
those exquisite little coffee services, those crocodile paper-
weights, those barrel-shaped and bird-shaped bottles came
from Siut. There is a whole street of such pottery here in
the town. Your dahabeeyah is scarcely made fast before
a dealer comes on board and ranges his brittle wares along
the deck. Others display their goods upon the bank.
But the best things are only to be had in the bazaars; and
not even in Cairo is it possible to find Siut ware so choice
in color, form and design as that which the two or three
best dealers bring out, wrapped in soft paper, when a
European customer appears in the market.

Besides the street of pottery there is a street of red
shoes; another of native and foreign stuffs; and the usual
run of saddlers' shops, kebab stalls and Greek stores for
the sale of everything in heaven or earth, from third-rate
cognac to patent wax vestas. The houses are of plastered
mud or sun-dried bricks, as at Minieh. The thoroughfares
are dusty, narrow, unpaved and crowded, as at Minieh. The
people are one-eyed, dirty and unfragrant, as at Minieh. The
children's eyes are full of flies and their heads are covered with
sores, as at Minieh. In short, it is Minieh over again on a

94 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

larger scale; differing only in respect of its inhabitants,
who, instead of being sullen, thievish and unfriendly, are
too familiar to be pleasant, and the most unappeasable
beggars out of Ireland. So our mirage turns to sordid
reality, and Siut, which from afar off looked like the capi-
tal of Dreamland, resolves itself into a big mud town, as
ugly and ordinary as its fellows. Even the minarets, so
elegant from a distance, betray for the most part but
rough masonry and clumsy ornamentation when closely
looked into.

A lofty embanked road planted with fine sycamore figs
leads from Hamra to Siut ; and another embanked road,
leads from Siut to the mountain of tombs. Of the ancient
Egyptian city no vestige remains, the modern town being
built upon the mounds of the earlier settlement; but the
City of the Dead — so much of it, at least, as was excavated
in the living rock — survives, as at Memphis, to commem-
orate the departed splendor of the place.

We took donkeys next day to the edge of the desert and
went up to the sepulchers on foot. The mountain, which
looked a delicate salmon-pink when seen from afar, now
showed bleached and arid and streaked with ocherous yel-
low. Layer above layer, in beds of strongly marked strati-
fication, it towered overhead; tier above tier, the tombs
yawned, open-mouthed, along the face of the precipice. I
picked up a fragment of the rock, and found it light, por-
ous and full of little cells, like pumice. The slopes were
strewn with stones, as well as witli fragments of mummy,
shreds of mummy-cloth and human bones, all whitening
and withering in the sun.

The first tomb we came to was the so-called Stabl Antar
— a magnificent but cruelly mutilated excavation, consisting
of a grand entrance, a vaulted corridor, a great hall, two
side chambers and a sanctuary. The ceiling of the cor-
ridor, now smoke-blackened and defaced, has been richly
decorated with intricate patterns in light green, white and
buff, upon a ground of dark bluish-green stucco. The wall
to the right on entering is covered with a long hieroglyphic
inscription. In the sanctuary vague traces of seated fig-
ures, male and female, with lotus blossoms in their hands,
are dimly visible. Two colossal warriors incised in out-
line upon the leveled rock — the one very perfect, the other
hacked almost out of recognition — stand on each side of

MINI EH TO S1UT. 95

the huge portal. A circular hole in the threshold marks
the spot where the great door once worked upon its pivot;
and a deep pit, now partially filled in with rubbish, leads
from the center of the hall to some long-rifled vault deep
down in the heart of the mountain. Wilful destruction
has been at work on every side. The wall-sculptures have
been defaced — the massive pillars that once supported the
superincumbent rock have been quarried away — the interior
is heaped high with debris. Enough is left, however, to
attest the antique stateliness of the tomb; and the hiero-
glyphic inscription remains almost intact to tell its age and
history.

This inscription (erroneously entered in Murray's Guide
as uncopied, but interpreted by Brugsch, who published
extracts from it as far back as 1862) shows the excavation
to have been made for one Hepoukefa orHaptefa, nomarch
of the Lycopolite nome and the chief priest of the jackal
god of Siut.* It is also famous among scientific students
for certain passages which contain important information
regarding the intercalary days of the Egyptian calendar. f
We observed that the full-length figures on the jambs of
the doorway appeared to have been incised, filled in with
stucco and then colored. The stucco had for the most
part fallen out, though enough remained to show the style
of the work. J

From this tomb to the next we crept by way of a pas-
sage tunneled in the mountain, and emerged into a spacious,
quadrangular grotto, even more dilapidated than the first.
It had been originally supported by square pillars left
standing in the substance of the rock; but, like the pillars
in the tomb of Hepoukefa, they had been hewn away in
the middle and looked like stalactite columns in process of

* The known inscriptions in the tomb of Haptefa have recently
been recopied, and another long inscription, not previously tran-
scribed, has been copied and translated, by Mr. F. Llewellyn Griffith,
acting for the Egypt exploration fund. Mr. Griffith has for the
first time fixed the date of this famous tomb, which was made dur-
ing the reign of Usertesen I, of the twelth dynasty. [Note to
second edition.]

f See " Recueil des Monuments Egyptiens," Brugsch. Part I.
Planche xi. Published 1862.

\ Some famous tombs of very early date, enriched with the same
kind of inlaid decoration, are to be seen at Meydum, near the base of
Mej'duui pyramid.

96 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE KILE.

formation. For the rest, two half-filled pits, a broken
sarcophagus and a few painted hieroglyphs upon a space of
stuccoed wall were all that remained.

One would have liked to see the sepulcher in which
Ampere, the brilliant and eager disciple of Champollion,
deciphered the ancient name of Siut; but since he does not
specify the cartouche by which it could be identified, one
might wander about the mountain for a week without
being able to find it. Having first described the Stabl
An tar, he says: " In another grotto I found twice over the
name of the city written in hieroglyphic characters, Qi-ou-t.
This name forms part of an inscription which also contains
an ancient royal cartouche; so proving that the present
name of the city dates back to Pharaonic times."*

Here, then, we trace a double process of preservation.
This town, which in the ancient Egyptian was written
Ssout, became Lycopolis under the Greeks; continued to
be called Lycopolis throughout the period of Roman rule
in Egypt; reverted to its old historic name under the
Copts of the middle ages, who wrote it Sioout; and sur-
vives in the Asyoot of the Arab fellah. Nor is this by any
means a solitary instance. Khemmis in the same way be-
came Panopolis, reverted to the Coptic Chmin, and to this
day as Ekhmim perpetuates the legend of its first founda-
tion. As with these fragments of the old tongue, so with
the race. Subdued again and again by invading hordes;
intermixed for centuries together with Phoenician, Persian,
Greek, Roman and Arab blood, it fuses these heterogeneous
elements in one common mold, reverts persistently to the
early type and remains Egyptian to the last. So strange
is the tyranny of natural forces. The sun and soil of
Egypt demand one special breed of men, and will tolerate
no other. Foreign residents cannot rear children in the
country. In the Isthmus of Suez, which is considered the
healthiest part of Egypt, an alien population of twenty
thousand persons failed in the course of ten years to rear
one infant born upon the soil. Children of an alien father
and an Egyptian mother will die off in the same way in
early infancy, unless brought up in the simple native
fashion. And it is affirmed of the descendants of mixed

* "Voyage en Egypte et en Nubie," by J. J. Ampere. The car-
touche may perhaps be that of Rakameri, mentioned by Brugsck;
" Histoire d'Egypte," chap, vi., first edition.

MINIEH TO SIUT. 97

marriages, that after the third generation the foreign blood
seems to be eliminated, while the traits of the race are
restored to their original purity.

These are but a few instances of the startling con-
servatism of Egypt — a conservatism which interested me
particularly, and to which I shall frequently have occasion
to return.

Each nome or province of ancient Egypt had its sacred
animals; and Suit was called Lycopolis by the Greeks*
because the wolf (now almost extinct in the land) was there
held in the same kind of reverence as the cat at Bubastis,
the crocodile at Ombos, and the lion at Leontopolis.
Mummy-wolves are, or used to be, found in the smaller
tombs about the mountain, as well as mummy-jackals;
Anubis, the jackal-headed god, being the presiding deity
of the district. A mummied jackal from this place, curi-
ously wrapped in striped bandages, is to be seen in the first
Egyptian room at the British Museum.

But the view from the mountain above Siut is finer than
its tombs and more ancient than its mummies. Seen from
within the great doorway of the second grotto, it looks
like a framed picture. For the foreground, we have a
dazzling slope of limestone debris; in the middle distance,
a wide plain clothed with the delicious tender green of
very yourgcorn; farther away yet, the cupolas and minarets
of Siut rising from the midst of a belt of palm-groves; be-
yond these again, the molten gold of the great river glit-
tering away, coil after coil, into the far distance; and all
along the horizon the everlasting boundary of the desert.
Large pools of placid water left by the last inundation lie
here and there, like lakes amid the green. A group of
brown men are wading yonder with their nets. A funeral
comes along the embanked road — the bier carried at a
rapid pace on men's shoulders and covered with a red
shawl; the women taking up handfuls of dust and scatter-
ing it upon their heads as they walk. We can see the dust
flying and hear their shrill wail borne upon the breathless
air. The cemetery toward which they are going lies round
to the left, at the foot of the mountain — a wilderness of
little white cupolas, with here and there a tree. Broad

* The Greeks translated the sacred names of Egyptian places; the
Copts adopted the civil names.

98 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

spaces of shade sleep under the spreading sycamores by the
road side; a hawk cries overhead; and Siut, bathed in the
splendor of the morning sun, looks as fairy-like as ever.

Lepsius is reported to have said that the view from this
hillside was the finest in Egypt. But Egypt is a long
country and questions of precedence are delicate matters to
deal with. It is, however, a very beautiful view; though
most travelers who know the scenery about Thebes and the
approach to Assuan would hesitate, I should fancy, to give
the preference to a landscape from which the nearer
mountains are excluded by the position of the spectator.

The tombs here, as in many other parts of Egypt, are
said to have been largely appropriated by early Christian
anchorites during the reigns of the later Roman emperors;
and to these recluses may perhaps be ascribed the legend
that makes Lycopolis the abode of Joseph and Mary during
the years of their sojourn in Egypt. It is, of course, but a
legend and wholly improbable. If the holy family ever
journeyed into Egypt at all, which certain Biblical critics
now hold to be doubtful, they probably rested from their
wanderings at some town not very far from the eastern
border — as Tanis, or Pithom, or Bubastis. Siut would, at
all events, lie at least two hundred and fifty miles to the
southward of any point to which they might reasonably
be supposed to have penetrated.

Still, one would like to believe a story that laid the
scene of our Lord's childhood in the midst of this beautiful
and glowing Egyptian pastoral. With what a profound
and touching interest it would invest the place ! With
what different eyes we should look down upon a landscape
which must have been dear and familiar to Him in all its
details and which, from the nature of the ground, must
have remained almost unchanged from His day to ours!
The mountain with its tombs, the green corn-flats, the
Nile and the desert, looked then as they look now. It is
only the Moslem minarets that are new. It is only the
pylons and sanctuaries of the ancient worship that have
passed away.

SIUT TO DENDERAH. 99

CHAPTEE VII.

SIUT TO DEJSTDERAH.

We started from Suit with a couple of tons of new
brown bread on board, which, being cut into slices and
laid to dry in the sun, was speedily converted into rusks
and stored away in two huge lockers on the upper deck.
The sparrows and water-wagtails had a good time while the
drying went on; but no one seemed to grudge the toll they
levied.

"We often had a " big wind " now; though it seldom
began to blow before ten or eleven a.m., and generally fell
at sunset. Now and then, when it chanced to keep up,
and the river was known to be free from shallows, we went
on sailing through the night; but this seldom happened,
and, when it did happen, it made sleep impossible — so that
nothing but the certainty of doing a great many miles
between bedtime and breakfast could induce us to put np
with it.

We had now been long enough afloat to find out that we
had almost always one man on the sick list, and were
therefore habitually short of a hand for the navigation of
the boat. There never were such fellows for knocking
themselves to pieces as our sailors. They were always
bruising their feet, wounding their hands, getting sun-
strokes, and whitlows, and sprains, and disabling them-
selves in some way. L , with her little medicine chest

and her roll of lint and bandages, soon had a small but
steady practice, and might have been seen about the lower
deck most mornings after breakfast, repairing these
damaged Alis and Hassans. It was well for them that we
carried " an experienced surgeon," for they were entirely
helpless and despondent when hurt, and ignorant of the
commonest remedies. Nor is this helplessness confined to
natives of the* sailor and fellah class. The provincial pro-
prietors and officials are to the full as ignorant, not only of

100 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the uses of such simple things as poultices or wet com-
presses, but of the most elementary laws of health.
Doctors there are none south of Cairo; and such is the
general mistrust of state medicine, that when, as in the
case of any widely spread epidemic, a medical officer is
sent up the river by order of the government, half the
people are said to conceal their sick, while the other half
reject the remedies prescribed for them. Their trust in
the skill of the passing European is, on the other hand,
unbounded. Appeals for advice and medicine were con-
stantly being made to us by both rich and poor; and there
was something very pathetic in the simple faith with which
they accepted any little help we were able to give them.

Meanwhile L 's medical reputation, being confirmed by

a few simple cures, rose high among the crew. They called
her the hakim sitt (the doctor-lady); obeyed her directions
and swallowed her medicines as reverently as if she
were the college of surgeons personified; and showed their
gratitude in all kinds of pretty, child-like ways — singing
her favorite Arab song as they ran beside her donkey —
searching for sculptured fragments whenever there were
ruins to be visited — and constantly bringing her little gifts
of pebbles and wild flowers.

Above Siut, the picturesqueness of the river is confined
for the most part to the eastern bank. We have almost
always a near range of mountains on the Arabian side, and
a more distant chain on the Libyan horizon. Gebel
Sheik el Ra&ineh succeeds to Gebel Abufayda, and is
followed in close succession by the cliffs of Gow, of Gebel
Sheik el Hereedee, of Gebel Ayserat and Gebel Tukh —
all alike rigid in strongly marked beds of level limestone
strata; flat-topped and even, like lines of giant ramparts;
and more or less pierced with orifices which we know to be
tombs, but which look like loop-holes from a distance.

Flying before the wind with both sails set, we see the
rapid panorama unfold itself day after day, mile after mile,
hour after hour. Villages, palm groves, rock-cut sepul-
chers, flit past and are left behind. To-day we enter the
region of the dom palm. To-morrow we pass the map-
drawn limit of the crocodile. The cliffs advance, recede,
open away into desolate-looking valleys, and show faint
traces of paths leading to excavated tombs on distant
heights. The -headland that looked shadowy in the dis-

SIUT TO DENDERAH. 101

tance a couple of hours ago is reached and passed. The
cargo-boat on which we have been gaining all the morning
is outstripped and dwindling in the rear. Now we pass a
bold bluff sheltering a sheik's tomb and a solitary dom
palm — now an ancient quarry from which the stone has
been cut out in smooth masses, leaving great halls, and
corridors, and stages in the mountain side. At Gow,* the
scene of an insurrection headed by a crazy dervish some ten
years ago, we see, in place of a large and populous village,
only a tract of fertile corn ground, a few ruined huts, and
a group of decapitated palms. We are now skirting Ge-
bel Sheik el Hereedee; here bordered by a rich margin of
cultivated flat; yonder leaving space for scarce a strip of
roadway between the precipice and the river. Then comes
Raaineh, a large village of square mud towers, lofty and
battlemented, with string-courses of pots for the pigeons
— and later on, Girgeh, once the capital town of Middle
Egypt, where we put in for half an hour to post and in-
quire for letters. Here the Nile is fast eating away the
bank and carrying the town by storm. A ruined mosque
with pointed arches, roofless cloisters, and a leaning column
that must surely have come to the ground by this time,
stands just above the landing-place. A hundred years ago
it lay a quarter of a mile from the river; ten years ago it
was yet perfect ; after a few more inundations it will be
swept away. Till that time comes, however, it helps to
make Girgeh one of the most picturesque towns in Egypt.
At Farshut we see the sugar-works in active operation —
smoke pouring from the tall chimneys; steam issuing from

* According to the account given in her letters by Lady Duff Gor-
don, this dervish, who had acquired a reputation for unusal sanctity by
repeating the name of Allah three thousand times every night for three
years, believed that he had by these means rendered himself invul-
nerable; and so, proclaiming himself the appointed slayer of Anti-
christ, he stirred up a revolt among the villages bordering Gebel
Sheik Hereedee, instigated an attack on an English dahabeeyah,
and brought down upon himself and all that country-side the swift
and summary vengeance of the government. Steamers with troops
commanded by Fadl Pasha were dispatched up the river; rebels were
shot; villages sacked; crops and cattle confiscated. The women and
children of the place were then distributed among the neighboring
hamlets; and Gow, which was as large a village as Luxor, ceased to
exist. The dervish's fate remained uncertain. He was shot, accord-
ing to some; and by others it was said that he had escaped into the
desert under the protection of a tribe of^edouifts1, *' "■-"•^

/ 1

102 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the traps in the basement; cargo-boats unlading fresh su-
gar-cane against the bank; heavily burdened Arabs trans-
porting it to -the factory; bullock trucks laden with cane-
leaf for firing. A little higher up, at Sahil Bajura on the
opposite side of the river, we find the bank strewn for
full a quarter of a mile with sugar-cane en masse. Hun-
dreds of camels are either arriving laden with it, or going
back for more — dozens of cargo-boats are drawn up to re-
ceive it — swarms of brown fellaheen are stacking it on
board for unshipment again at Farslmt. The camels
snort and growl; the men shout; the overseers, in blue-
fringed robes and white turbans, stalk to and fro, and keep
the work going. The mountains here recede so far as to
be almost out of sight, and a plain rich in sugar-cane and
date-palms widens out between them and the river.

And now the banks are lovely with an unwonted wealth
of verdure. The young corn clothes the plain like a car-
pet, while the yellow-tasseled mimosa, the feathery tama-
risk, the doin and date palm, and spreading sycamore-fig,
border the towing-path like garden trees beside a garden
walk.

Farther on still, when all this greenery is left behind
and the banks have again become flat and bare, we see to
our exceeding surprise what seems to be a very large griz-
zled ape perched on the top of a dust-heap on the western
bank. The creature is evidently quite tame, and sits on its
haunches in just that chilly, melancholy posture that the
chimpanzee is wont to assume in his cage at the Zoological
Gardens. Some six or eight Arabs, one of whom has dis-
mounted from his camel for the purpose, are standing
round and staring at him, much as the British public
stand and stare at the specimen in the Begent's Park.
Meanwhile a strange excitement breaks out among our
crew. They crowd to the side; they shout; they gesticu-
late; the captain salaams; the steersman waves his hand;
all eyes are turned toward the shore.

"Do you see Sheik Selim?" cries Talhamy, breath-
lessly, rushing up from below. " There he is! Look at
him! That is Sheik Selim !"_

And so we find out that it is not a monkey but a man —
and not only a man, but a saint. Holiest of the holy,
dirtiest of the dirty, white-pated, white-bearded, withered,
bent, and knotted up, is the renowned Sheik Selim — he

8IUT TO DENDERAE. 103

who, naked and unwashed, has sat on that same spot
every day through summer heat and winter cold for the
last fifty years ; never providing himself with food or
water; never even lifting his hand to his mouth ; depend-
ing on charity not only for his food hut for his feeding!
He is not nice to look at, even hy this dim light, and at
this distance; hut the sailors think him quite beautiful, and
call aloud to him for his blessing as we go by.

"It is not by our own will that we sail past, 0 father!"
they cry. "Fain would we kiss thy hand; but the wind
blows and the merkeb (boat) goes, and we have no power
to stay!"

But Sheik Selim neither lifts his head nor shows any
sign of hearing, and in a few minutes the mound on which
he sits is left behind in the gloaming.

At How, where the new town is partly built on the
mounds of the old (Diospolis Parva), we next morning
saw the natives transporting small boat-loads of ancient
brick rubbish to the opposite side of the river, for the pur-
pose of manuring those fields from which the early durra
crop had just been gathered in. Thus, curiously enough, the
mud left by some inundation of two or three thousand years
ago comes at last to the use from which it was then diverted,
and is found to be more fertilizing than the new deposit.
At Kasr es Sayd, a little farther on, we came to one of the
well-known "bad bits" — a place where the bed of the
river is full of sunken rocks, and sailing is impossible.
Here the men were half the day punting the dahabeeyah
over the dangerous part, while we grubbed among the
mounds of what was once the ancient city of Chenoboscion.
These remains, which cover a large superficial area and
consist entirely of crude brick foundations, are very inter-
esting and in good preservation. We traced the ground-
plans of several houses ; followed the passages by which
they were separated ; and observed many small arches
which seemed built on too small a scale for doors or win-
dows, but for which it wras difficult to account in any
other way. Brambles and weeds were growing in these
deserted inclosures ; while rubbish-heaps, excavated pits,
and piles of broken pottery divided the ruins and made
the work of exploration difficult. We looked in vain for the
dilapidated quay and sculptured blocks mentioned in Wil-
kinson's "General Yiew of Egypt"; but if the foundation-

104 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

stones of the new sugar factory close against the mooring-
place could speak, they would no doubt explain the mys-
tery. We saw nothing, indeed, to show that Chenoboscion
had contained any stone structures whatever, save the
broken shaft of one small granite column.

The village of Kasr es Sayd consists of a cluster of mud
huts and a sugar factory; but the factory was idle that
day and the village seemed half deserted. The view here
is particularly fine. About a couple of miles to the
southward, the mountains, in magnificent procession, come
down again at right angles to the river, and thence reach
away in long ranges of precipitous headlands. The plain,
terminating abruptly against the foot of this gigantic
barrier, opens back eastward to the remotest horizon — an
undulating sea of glistening sand, bordered by a chaotic
middle distance of mounded ruins. Nearest of all, a
narrow foreground of cultivated soil, green with young
crops and watered by frequent shadufs, extends along the
river side to the foot of the mountains. A sheik's tomb
shaded by a single dom palm is conspicuous on the bank,
while far away, planted amid the solitary sands, we see a
large Coptic convent with many cupolas; a cemetery full of
Christian graves; and a little oasis of date palms indicating
the presence of a spring.

The chief interest of this scene, however, centers in the
ruins; and these — looked upon from a little distance,
blackened, desolate, half-buried, obscured every now and
then, when the wind swept over them, by swirling clouds
of dust — reminded us of the villages we had seen not two
years before, half-overwhelmed and yet smoking, in the
midst of a lava-torrent below Vesuvius.

We now had the full moon again, making night more
beautiful than day. Sitting on deck for hours after the
sun had gone down, when the boat glided gently on with
half-filled sail and the force of the wind was spent, we used
to wonder if in all the world there was another climate in
which the effect of moonlight was so magical. To say
that every object far or near was visible as distinctly as by
day, yet more tenderly, is to say nothing. It was not only
form that was defined; it was not only light and shadow
that were vivid — it was color that was present. Color
neither deadened nor changed ; but softened, glowing,
spiritualized, The amber sheen of the sand-island in the

8IUT TO DENDERAH. 105

middle of the river, the sober green of the palm-grove, the
little lady's turquoise-colored hood, were clear to the sight
and relatively true in tone. The oranges showed through

the bars of the crute like nuggets of pure gold. L 'a

crimson shawl glowed with a warmer dye than it ever wore
by day. The mountains were flushed as if in the light of
sunset. Of all the natural phenomena that we beheld in
the course of the journey, I remember none that surprised
us more than this. We could scarcely believe at first that
it was not some effect of afterg-low, or some miraculous
aurora of the east. But the sun had nothing to do with
that flush upon the mountains. The glow was in the
stone, and the moonlight but revealed the local color.

For some days before they came in sight we had been
eagerly looking for the Theban hills; and now, after a
night of rapid sailing, we woke one morning to find the
sun rising on the wrong side of the boat, the favorable
wind dead against us, and a picturesque chain of broken
peaks upon our starboard bow. By these signs we knew
that we must have come to the great bend in the river
between How and Keneh, and that these new mountains,
so much more varied in form than those of Middle Egypt,
must be the mountains behind Denderah. They seemed
to lie upon the eastern bank, but that was an illusion
which the map disproved, and which lasted only till the
great corner was fairly turned. To turn that corner, how-
ever, in the teeth of wind and current, was no easy task,
amTcost us two long days of hard tracking.

At a point about ten miles below Denderah we saw
some thousands of fellaheen at work amid clouds of sand
upon the embankments of a new canal. They swarmed
over the mounds like ants, and the continuous murmur of
their voices came to us across the river like the humming
of innumerable bees. Others, following the path along the
bank, were pouring toward the spot in an unbroken stream.
The Nile must here be nearly half a mile in breadth; but
the engineers in European dress and the overseers with
long sticks in their hands were plainly distinguishable by
the help of a glass. The tents in which these officials were
camping out during the progress of the work gleamed
white among the palms by the river side. Such scenes
must have been common enough in the old days when a
conquering Pharaoh, returning from Libya or the land of

10G A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Kush, sethis captives to raise a dyke, or excavate a lake,
or quarry a mountain. The Israelites, building the mass-
ive walls of Pithom and Rameses with bricks of their own
making, must have presented exactly such a spectacle.

That we were witnessing a case of forced labor could
not be doubted. Those thousands yonder had most certainly
been drafted off in gangs from hundreds of distant vil-
lages, and were but little better off, for the time being,
than the captives of the ancient empire. In all cases of
forced labor under the present regime, however, it seems
that the laborer is paid, though very insufficiently, for his
unwilling toil; and that his captivity only lasts so long as
the work for which he has been pressed remains in prog-
ress. In some cases the term of service is limited to
three or four months, at the end of which time the men
are supposed to be returned in barges 'towed by goverment
steam-tugs. It too often happens, nevertheless, that the
poor souls are left to get back how they can; and thus
many a husband and father either perishes by the way or
is driven to take service in some village far from home.
Meanwhile his wife and children, being scantily supported
by the Sheik el Beled, fall into a condition of semi-serf-
dom; and his little patch of ground, left unfilled through
seed-time and harvest, passes after the next inundation
into the hands of a stranger.

But there is another side to this question of forced labor.
Water must be had in Egypt, no matter at what cost. If
the land is not sufficiently irrigated the crops fail and the
nation starves. Now, the frequent construction of canals
has from immemorial time been reckoned among the first
duties of an Egyptian ruler; but it is a duty which cannot
be performed without the willing or unwilling co-operation
of several thousand workmen. Those who are best ac-
quainted with the character and temperof the fellah maintain
the hopelessness of looking to him for voluntary labor of
this description. Frugal, patient, easily contented as he
is, no promise of wages, however high, would tempt him
from his native village. What to him are the needs of a
district six or seven hundred miles away? His own shadtif
is enough for his own patch, and so long as he can raise his
three little crops a year neither he nor his family will
starve. How, then, are these necessary public works to be
carried out, unless by means of the corvee? M. About has

S1UT 10 DENDERAH. 107

put an ingenious summary of this "other-side " argument
into the mouth of his ideal fellah. "It is not the em-
peror," says Ahmed to the Frenchman, " who causes the
rain to descend upon your land; it is the west wind — and
the benefit thus conferred upon you exacts no penalty of
manual labor. But in Egypt, where the rain from
heaven falls scarcely three times in the year, it is the prince
who supplies its place to us by distributing the waters of
the Nile. This can only be done by the work of men's
hands; and it is therefore to the interest of all that the
hands of all should be at his disposal."

We regarded it, I think, as an especial piece of good fort-
une when we found ourselves becalmed next day within
three or four miles of Denderah. Abydos comes first in
order, according to the map; but then the temples lie
seven or eight miles from the river, and, as we happened
just thereabouts to be making some ten miles an hour, we
put off the excursion till our return. Here, however, the
ruins lay comparatively near at hand, and in such a posi-
tion that we could approach them from below and rejoin
our dahabeeyah a few miles higher up the river. So, leav-
ing Rei's Hassan to track against the current, we landed at
the first convenient point, and, finding neither donkeys nor
guides at hand, took an escort of three or four sailors and
set off on foot.

The way was long, the day was hot, and we had only
the map to go by. Having climbed the steep bank and
skirted an extensive palm-grove, we found ourselves in a
country without paths or roads of any kind. The soil,
squared off as usual like a gigantic chess-board, was trav-
ersed by hundreds of tiny water-channels, between which
we had to steer our course as best we could. Presently the
last belt of palms was passed — the plain, green with young
corn and level as a lake, widened out at the foot of the
mountains — and the temple, islanded in that sea of rip-
pling emerald, rose up before us upon its platform of
blackened mounds.

It was still full two miles away; but it looked enor-
mous— showing from this distance as a massive, lowT-
browed, sharply defined mass of dead-white masonry. The
walls sloped in slightly toward the top ; and the facade
appeared to be supported on eight square biers, with a
large doorway in the center. If sculptured ornament, or

108 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

cornice, or pictured legend enriched those walls, we were
too far off to distinguish them. All looked strangely
naked and solemn — more like a tomb than a temple.

Nor was the surrounding scene less deathlike in its solitude.
Not a tree, not a hut, not a living form broke the green
monotony of the plain. Behind the temple, but divided
from it by a farther space of mounded ruins, rose the
mountains — pinky, aerial, with sheeny sand-drifts heaped
in the hollows of their bare buttresses and spaces of soft
blue shadow in their misty chasms. Where the range
receded, a long vista of glittering desert opened to the
Libyan horizon.

Then as we drew nearer, coming by and by to a raised
causeway which apparently connected the mounds with
some point down by the river, the details of the temple
gradually emerged into distinctness. We could now see
the curve and under shadow of the cornice; and a small
object in front of the facade, which looked at first sight
like a monolithic altar, resolved itself into a massive gate-
way, of the kind known as a single pylon. Nearer still,
among some low outlying mounds, we came upon frag-
ments of sculptured capitals and mutilated statues half-
buried in rank grass — upon a series of stagnant niter-tanks
and deserted workshops — upon the telegraph poles and
wires which here come striding along the edge of the desert
and vanish southward with messages for Nubia and the
Soudan.

Egypt is the land of niter. It is found wherever a crude
brick mound is disturbed or an antique stone structure de-
molished. The Nile mud is strongly impregnated with it;
and in Nubia we used to find it lying in thick talc-like
flakes upon the surface of rocks far above the present level
of the inundation. These tanks at Dendenih had been
sunk, we are told, when the great temple was excavated by
Abbas Pasha more than twenty years ago. The niter then
found was utilized out of hand; washed and crystallized in
the tanks; and converted into gunpowder in the adjacent
Avorkshops. The telegraph wires are more recent intruders,
and the work of the khedive; but one longed to put them
out of sight, to pull down the gunpowder sheds, and to
fill up the tanks with debris. For what had the arts of
modern warfare or the wonders of modern science to do
with Hathor, the Lady of Beauty and the Western Shades,

SIUT TO DENDFAiAH. 109

the Nurse of Horns, the Egyptian Aphrodite, to whom
yonder mountain of wrought stone and all these wastes
were sacred?

"We were by this time near enough to see that the square
piers of the facade were neither square nor piers, but huge
round columns with human-headed capitals; and that the
walls, instead of being plain and tomb-like, were covered
with an infinite multitude of sculptured figures. The
pylon — rich with inscriptions and bas-reliefs, but disfigured
by myriads of tiny wasps" nests, like clustered mud-bubbles
— now towered high above our heads and led to a walled
avenue cut direct through the mounds and sloping down-
ward to the main entrance of the temple.

Not, however, till we stood immediately under those
ponderous columns, looking down upon the paved floor
below and up to the huge cornice that projected overhead
like the crest of an impending wave, did we realize the
immense proportions of the building. Lofty as it looked
from a distance, we now found that it was only the in-
terior that had been excavated, and that not more than
two-thirds of its actual height was visible above the
mounds. The level of the avenue was, indeed, at its
lowest part full twenty feet above that of the first great
hall; and we had still a steep temporary staircase to go
down before reaching the original pavement.

The effect of the portico as one stands at the top of this
staircase is one of overwhelming majesty. Its breadth, its
height, the massiveness of its parts, exceed in grandeur all
that one has been anticipating throughout the long two
miles of approach. The immense girth of the columns,
the huge screens which connect them, the ponderous
cornice jutting overhead, confuse the imagination, and in
the absence of given measurements* appear, perhaps, even
more enormous than they are. Looking up to the archi-
trave, we see a kind of Egyptian Panathenaic procession of
carven priests and warriors, some with standards and some
with musical instruments. The winged globe, depicted
upon a gigantic scale in the curve of the cornice, seems to

* Sir G. Wilkinson states the total length of the temple to be
ninety three paces, or two hundred and twenty feet; and the width
of the portico fifty paces. Murray gives no measurements; neither
does Mariette Bey in his delightful little " Itineraire;" neither does
Furgusson, nor Champollion, nor any other writer to whose works
I have had access.

110 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

hover above the central doorway. Hieroglyphs, emblems,
strange forms of kings and gods, cover every foot of wall-
space, frieze and pillar. Nor does this wealth of sur-
face-sculpture tend in any way to diminish the general
effect of size. It would seem, on the contrary, as if com-
plex decoration were in this instance the natural comple-
ment to simplicity of form. Every group, every inscription,
appears to be necessary and in its place; an essential part of
the building it helps to adorn. Most of these details are
as perfect as on the day when the last workman went his
way and the architect saw his design completed. Time
has neither marred the surface of the stone nor blunted
the work of the chisel. Such injury as they have sustained
is from the hand of man; and in no country has the hand
of man achieved more and destroyed more than in Egypt.
The Persians overthrew the masterpieces of the Pharaohs;
the Copts mutilated the temples of the Ptolemies and
Caesars; the Arabs stripped the pyramids and carried-
Memphis away piece-meal. Here at Denderah we have an
example of Grseco-Egyptian work and early Christian
fanaticism. Begun by Ptolemy XI,* and bearing upon its

* The names of Augustus, Caligula, Tiberius, Doinitian, Claudius,
and Nero are found in the royal ovals; the oldest being those of
Ptolemy XI, the founder of the present edifice, which was, however,
rebuilt upon the site of a succession of older buildings, of which the
most ancient dated back as far as the reign of Khufu, the builder of
the great pyramid. This fact, and the still more interesting fact
that the oldest structure of all was believed to belong to the incon-
ceivably remote period of the Horshesu, or " followers of Horus "
(i. e. the petty chiefs, or princes, who ruled in Egypt before the
foundation of the first monarchy), is recorded in the following re-
markable inscription discovered by Mariette in one of the crypts con-
structed in the thickness of the walls of the present temple. The
first text relates to certain festivals to be celebrated in honor of
I lathor, and states that all the ordained ceremonies had been performed
by King Thothmes III (eighteenth dynasty) "in memory of his
mother, Hathor of Denderah. And they found the great funda-
mental rules of Denderah in ancient writing, written on goat-skin in
the time of the followers of Horus. This was found in the inside of
a brick wall during the reign of King Pepi (sixth dynasty)." In the
same crypt, another and a more brief inscription runs thus: " Great
fundamental rule of Denderah. Restorations done by Thothmes III,
according to what was found in ancient writing of the time of King
Khufu." Hereupon Mariette remarks: " The temple of Denderah is
not, then, one of the most modern in Egypt, except in so far as it
was constructed by one of the later Lagidae. Its origin is literally
lost in the night of time." See "Denderah, Description Gfenerale,"
chap. i. pp. 55, 56.

SWT TO BENDER All.

Ill

latest ovals the name and style of Nero, the present build-
ing was still comparatively new when, in a.d. 379, the
ancient religion
was abolished by
the edict of The-
odosius. It was
then the most
gorgeous as well
asthe most recent
of all those larger
temples built
during the pros-
perous foreign
rule of the last
seven hundred
years. It stood,
surrounded by
groves of palm
and acacia, with-
in the precints
of a vast in clos-
ure, the walls of
which, one thou-
sand feet in
length, thirty-
five feet in
height and fif-
teen feet thick,
are still traceable.
A dromos, now
buried u n d e r
twenty feet of
debris, led from
the pylon to the
portico. The py-
lon is there still,
a partial ruin ;
but the temple,
with its roof, its
staircases and its
secret treasure-crypts, is in all essential respects as per-
fect as on the day when its splendor was given over to the
spoilers. One can easily imagine how these spoilers sacked

CLEOPATRA.

112 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

and ravaged all before them ; how they desecrated the
sacred places and cast down the statues of the goddess and
divided the treasures of the sanctuary. They did not, it
is true, commit such wholesale destruction as the Persian
invaders of nine hundred years before; but they were mer-
ciless iconoclasts and hacked away the face of every figure
within easy reach, both inside and outside the building.

Among those which escaped, however, is the famous
externa] bas-relief of Cleopatra on the back of the temple.
This curious sculpture is now banked up with rubbish for
its better preservation and can no longer be seen by
travelers. It was, however, admirably photographed some
years ago by Signor Beati; which photograph is faithfully
reproduced in the annexed engraving. Cleopatra is here
represented with a head-dress combining the attributes of
three goddesses; namely, the vulture of Maut (the head of
which is modeled in a masterly way), the horned disk of
llathor and the throne of Isis. The falling mass below
the head-dress is intended to represent hair dressed accord-
ing to the Egyptian fashion, in an infinite number of small
plaits, each finished off with an ornamental tag. The
women of Egypt and Nubia wear their hair so to this day
and unplait it, I am sorry to say, not oftener than once in
every eight or ten weeks. The Nubian girls fasten each
separate tail with a lump of Nile mud daubed over with
yellow ocher ; but Queen Cleopatra's silken tresses were
probably tipped with gilded wax or gum.

It is difficult to know where decorative sculpture ends
and portraiture begins in a work of this epoch. "We can-
not even be certain that a portrait was intended; though
the introduction of the royal oval in which the name of
Cleopatra (Klaupatra) is spelled with its vowel sounds in
full, would seem to point that way. If it is a portrait, then
large allowance must be made for conventional treatment.
The fleshiness of the features and the intolerable simper
are common to every head of the Ptolemaic period. The
ear, too, is pattern work, and the drawing of the figure is
ludicrous. Mannerism apart, however, the face wants for
neither individuality nor beauty. Cover the mouth, and
you have an almost faultless profile. The chin and throat
are also quite lovely; while the whole face, suggestive of
cruelty, subtlety, and voluptuousness, carries with it an
indefinable impression not oidy of portraiture, but of
likeness.

S1UT TO BENDER AH. 113

Tt, is not without something like a shock that one first
sees the unsightly havoc wrought upon the Hathor- headed
columns of the facade at Denderah. The massive folds of
the head-gear are there ; the ears, erect and pointed like
those of a heifer, are there; hut of the benignant face of
the goddess not a feature remains. Ampere, describing
these columns in one of his earliest letters from Egypt,
speaks of them as being still " brilliant with colors that
time had had no power to efface." Time, however, must
have been unusually busy during the thirty years that have
gone by since then; for though we presently found several
instances of painted bas-reliefs in the small inner
chambers, I do not remember to have observed any
remains of color (save here and there a faint trace of
yellow ocher) on the external decorations.

Without, all was sunshine and splendor; within, all was
silence and mystery. A heavy, death-like smell, as of
long-imprisoned gases, met us on the threshold. By the
half-light that strayed in through the portico we could see
vague outlines of a forest of giant columns rising out of
the gloom below and vanishing into the gloom above.
Beyond these again appeared shadowy vistas of successive
halls leading away into depths of impenetrable darkness.
It required no great courage to go down those stairs and
explore those depths with a party of fellow-travelers: but
it would have been a gruesome place to venture into alone.

Seen from within, the portico shows as a vast hall, fifty
feet in height and supported on twenty-four Hathor-
headed columns. Six of these, being engaged in the
screen, form part of the facade, and are the same upon
which we have been looking from without. By degrees, as
our eyes become used to the twilight, we see here and there
a capital which still preserves the vague likeness of a
gigantic female face; while, dimly visible on every wall,
pillar, and doorway, a multitude of fantastic forms — hawk-
headed, ibis-headed, cow-headed, mitered, plumed, holding
aloft strange emblems, seated on thrones, performing
mysterious rites — seem to emerge from their places, like
things of life. Looking up to the ceiling, now smoke-
blackened and defaced, we discover elaborate paintings of
scarabasi, winged globes, and zodiacal emblems divided by
borders of intricate Greek patterns, the prevailing colors of
which are verditer aud chocolate. Bauds of hieroglyphic

114 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

inscriptions of royal ovals, of Hathor-heads of mitered
hawks, of lion-headed chimeras, of divinities and kings in
bas-relief, cover the shafts of the great columns from top
to bottom; and even here, every accessible human face,
however small, has been laboriously mutilated.

• Bewildered at first sight of these profuse and mysterious
decorations, we wander round and round; going on from
the first hall to the second, from the second to the third;
and plunging into deeper darkness at every step. We
have been reading about these gods and emblems for
weeks past — we have studied the plan of the temple
beforehand; yet now that we are actually here, our book
knowledge goes for nothing, and we feel as hopelessly
ignorant as if we had been suddenly landed in a new world.
Not till we have got over this first feeling of confusion —
not till, resting awhile on the base of one of the columns,
we again open out the plan of the building — do we begin to
realize the purport of the sculptures by which we are
surrounded.

The ceremonial of Egyptian worship was essentially pro-
cessional. Herein we have the central idea of every
temple and the key to its construction. It was bound to
contain store-chambers in which were kept vestments,
instruments, divine emblems, and the like; laboratories for
the preparation of perfumes and unguents; treasuries for
the safe custody of holy vessels and" precious offerings;
chambers for the reception and purification of tribute in
kind ; halls for the assembling and marshaling of priests
and functionaries ; and, for processional purposes, cor-
ridors, staircases, court-yards, cloisters, and vast inclosures
planted with avenues of trees and surrounded by walls
which hedged in with inviolable secrecy the solemn rites of
the priesthood.

In this plan, it will be seen, there is no provision made
for anything in the form of public worship; but then an
Egyptian temple was not a place for public worship. It
was a treasure-house, a sacristy, a royal oratory, a place of
preparation, of consecration, of sacerdotal privacy. There,
in costly shrines, dwelt the divine images. There they
were robed and unrobed; perfumed with incense; visited
and worshiped by the king. On certain great days of the
calendar, as on the occasion of the festival of the new
year, or the panegyries of the local gods, these images

SIUT TO DENDERAH. 115

were brought out, paraded along the corridors of the
temple, carried round the roof, and borne with waving of
banners, and chanting of hymns, and burning of incense,
through the sacred groves of the inclosure. Probably
none were admitted to these ceremonies save persons of
royal or priestly birth. To the rest of the community, all
that took place within those massy walls was enveloped in
mystery. It may be questioned, indeed, whether the
great mass of the people had any kind of personal religion.
They may not have been rigidly excluded from the temple
precincts, but they seem to have been allowed no partici-
pation in the worship of the gods. If now and then, on
high festival days, they beheld the sacred bark of the deity
carried in procession round the temenos, or caught a
glimpse of moving figures and glittering ensigns in the
pillared dusk of the Hypostyle Hall, it was all they ever
beheld of the solemn services of their church.

The temple of Denderah consists of a portico; a hall of
entrance; a hall of assembly; a third hall, which may be
called the hall of the sacred boats ; one small ground-floor
chapel; and upward of twenty side chambers of various
sizes, most of which are totally dark. Each one of these
halls and chambers bears the sculptured record of its use.
Hundreds of tableaux in bas-relief, thousands of elaborate
hieroglyphic inscriptions, cover every foot of available
space on wall and ceiling and soffit, on doorway and
column, and on the lining-slabs of passages and staircases.
These precious texts contain, amid much that is mystical
and tedious, an extraordinary wealth of indirect history.
Here we find programmes of ceremonial observances; num-
berless legends of the gods; chronologies of kings with
their various titles ; registers of weights and measures;
catalogues of offerings ; recipes for the pre]^aration of oils
and essences ; records of repairs and restorations done to
the temple; geographical lists of cities and provinces;
inventories of treasure, and the like. The hall of assembly
contains a calendar of festivals, and sets forth witli studied
precision the rites to be performed on each recurring anni-
versary. On the ceiling of the portico we find an astronom-
ical zodiac ; on the walls of a small temple on the roof,
the whole history of the resurrection of Osiris, together
with the order of prayer for the twelve hours of the night,
and a calendar of the festivals of Osiris in all the principal

116 A THOUSAND MILES UP TI1E NILE.

cities of Upper and Lower Egypt. Seventy years ago
these inscriptions were the puzzle and despair of the
learned ; but since modern science lias plucked out the
heart of its mystery, the whole temple lies before us as an
open volume filled to overflowing with strange and quaint
and heterogeneous matter — a Talmud in sculptured stone.*
Given such help as Mariette's hand-book affords, one can
trace out most of these curious things and identify the
uses of every hall and chamber throughout the building.
The king, in his double character of Pharaoh and high
priest, is the hero of every sculptured scene. Wearing
sometimes the truncated crown of Lower Egypt, some-
times the helmet-crown of Upper Egypt, and some-
times the pschent, which is a combination of both, he
figures in every tableau and heads every procession. Be-
ginning with the sculptures of the portico, we see him
arrive, preceded by his five royal standards. He wears his
long robe; his sandals are on his feet; he carries his staff
in his hand. Two goddesses receive him at the door and
conduct him into the presence of Thoth, the ibis-headed,
and Horns, the hawk-headed, who pour upon him a double
stream of the waters of life. Thus purified, he is crowned
by the goddesses of Upper and Lower Egypt, and by
them consigned to the local deities of Thebes and
Heliopolis, who usher him into the supreme presence of
Hathor. He then presents various offerings and recites
certain prayers ; whereupon the goddess promises him
length of days, everlasting renown, and other good things.
We next see him, always with the same smile and always in
the same attitude, doing homage to Osiris, to Horns and
other divinities. He presents them with flowers, wine,
bread, incense; while they in return promise him life, joy,
abundant harvests, victory, and the love of his people.
These pretty speeches — chefs-d'oeuvre of diplomatic style
and models of elegant flattery — are repeated over and over
again in scores of hieroglyphic groups. Mariette, how-
ever, sees in them something more than the language of
the court grafted upon the language of the hierarchy; he

* See Mariette's " Denderah," which contains the whole of these
multitudinous inscriptions in one hundred and sixty-six plates; also
a selection of some of the most interesting in Brugsch and Dii-
michen's " Recueil de Monuments Egvptiens " and " Geographische
Inschriften," 1862, 1863, 1865 and 1866.

SIUT TO DENDERAH. 117

detects the language of the schools, and discovers in the
utterances here ascribed to the king and the gods a reflec-
tion of that contemporary worship of the beautiful, the
good, and the true, which characterized the teaching of
the Alexandrian Museum.*

Passing on from the portico to the hall of assembly,
we enter a region of still dimmer twilight, beyond which
all is dark. In the side-chambers, where the heat is
intense and the atmosphere stifling, we can see only by the
help of lighted candles. These rooms are about twenty
feet in length; separate, like prison cells; and perfectly
dark. The sculptures which cover their walls are, how-
ever, as numerous as those in the outer halls, and indicate
in each instance the purpose for which the room was de-
signed. Thus in the laboratories we find bas-reliefs of
flasks and vases and figures carrying perfume bottles of
the familiar aryballos form; in the tribute chambers, offer-
ings of lotus lilies, wheat sheaves, maize, grapes and
pomegranates. In the oratories of Isis, Amen, and Sekhet,
representations of these divinities enthroned, and receiv-
ing the homage of the king ; while in the treasury, both
king and queen appear laden with precious gifts of caskets,
necklaces, pectoral ornaments, sistrums, and the like. It
would seem that the image-breakers had no time to spare
for these dark cells; for here the faces and figures are un-
mutilated, and in some places even the original coloring

* Hathor (or more correctly Hat-hor, i. e. the abode of Horus), is
not merely tbe Apbrodite of ancient Egypt; sbe is tbe pupil of tbe
eye of tbe sun; sbe is goddess of tbat beneficent planet whose rising
heralds the waters of the inundation; sbe represents the eternal
youth of nature, and is the direct personification of the beautiful.
She is also goddess of truth. "I offer the truth to thee, O God-
dess of Denderah!" says the king, in one of the inscriptions of tbe
sanctuary of the sistrum; " for truth is thy work, and thou thyself
art truth." Lastly, her emblem is tbe sistrum, and the sound of the
sistrum, according to Plutarch, was supposed to terrify and expel
Typhon (tbe evil principle); just as in mediaeval times the ringing
of church-bells was supposed to scare Beelzebub and bis crew.
From this point of view, the sistrum becomes typical of the triumph
of good over evil. Mariette, in his analysis of the decorations and
inscriptions of this temple, points out bow the builders were influ-
enced by the prevailing philosophy of the age, and how they veiled
the Platonism of Alexandria beneath the symbolism of the ancient
religion. The Hat-bor of Denderah was in fact worshiped in a sense
unknown to tbe Egyptians of pre-Ptolemaic times.

118 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

remains in excellent preservation. The complexion of the
goddesses, for instance, is painted of a light buff; the
king's skin is dark-red; that of Amen, blue. Isis wears a
rich robe of the well-known Indian pine-pattern; Sekhet
figures in a many colored garment curiously diapered ;
Amen is clad in red and green chain armor. The skirts
of the goddesses are inconceivably scant; but they are rich
in jewelry, and their head-dresses, necklaces, and bracelets
are full of minute and interesting detail. In one of the
four oratories dedicated to Sekhet, the king is depicted in
the act of offering a pectoral ornament of so rich and
elegant a design that, had there been time and daylight to
spare, the writer would fain have copied it.

In the center room at tiie extreme end of the temple,
exactly opposite the main entrance, lies the oratory of
llathor. This dark chamber, into which no ray of day-
light has ever penetrated, contains the sacred niche, the
holy of holies, in which was kept the great golden sistrum
of the goddess. The king alone was privileged to take out
that mysterious emblem. Having done so, he inclosed it
in a costly shrine, covered it with a thick veil, and placed
it in one of the sacred boats of which we find elaborate
representations sculptured on the walls of the hall in
which they were kept. These boats, which were con-
structed of cedar wood, gold, and silver, were intended to
be hoisted on wrought poles, and so carried in procession
on the shoulders of the priests. The niche is still there —
a mere hole in the hall, some three feet square and about
eight feet from the ground.

Thus, candle in hand, we make the circuit of these
outer chambers. In each doorway, besides the place cut
out for the bolt, we find a circular hole drilled above and a
quadrant-shaped hollow below, where once upon a time the
pivot of the door turned in its socket. The paved floors,
torn up by treasure-seekers, are full of treacherous holes
and blocks of broken stone. The ceilings are very lofty.
In the corridors a dim twilight reigns; but all is pitch-dark
beyond these gloomy threshelds. Hurrying along by the
light of a few flaring candles, one cannot but feel oppressed
by the strangeness and awful ness of the place. We speak
with bated breath, and even our chattering x\rabs for once
are silent. The very air tastes as if it had been imprisoned
here for centuries.

8IUT TO DENDERAII. 119

Finally, we take the staircase on the northern side of the
temple, in order to go up to the roof. Nothing that we
have yet seen surprises and delights us so much, I think,
as this staircase.

We have hitherto been tracing in their order all the
preparations for a great religious ceremony. We have seen
the king enter the temple; undergo the symbolical purifi-
cation; receive the twofold crown; and say his prayers to
each divinity in turn. We have followed him into the
laboratories, the oratories, and the holy of holies. All that
he has yet done, however, is preliminary. The procession
is yet to come, and here we have it. Here, sculptured on
the walls of this dark staircase, the crowning ceremony of
Egyptian worship is brought before our eyes in all its
details. Here, one by one, we have the standard-bearers,
the hierophants with the offerings, the priests, the whole
long, wonderful procession, with the king marching at its
head. Fresh and uninjured, as if they had but just left
the hand of the sculptor, these figures — each in his habit
as he lived, each with his foot upon the step — mount with
us as we mount, and go beside us all the way. Their
attitudes are so natural, their forms so roundly cut, that
one could almost fancy them in motion as the lights flicker
by. Surely there must be some one weird night in the
year when they step out from their places and take up the
next verse of their chanted hymn, and, to the sound of
instruments long mute and songs long silent, pace the
moonlit roof in ghostly order !

The sun is already down and the crimson light has
faded, when at length we emerge upon that vast terrace.
The roofing-stones are gigantic. Striding to and fro over
some of the biggest, our idle man finds several that
measure seven paces in length by four in breadth. In
yonder distant corner, like a little stone lodge in a vast
court-yard, stands a small temple supported on Hathor-
headed columns; while at the eastern end, forming a second
and loftier stage, rises the roof of the portico.

Meanwhile, the after-glow is fading. The mountains are
yet clothed in an atmosphere of tender half-light; but
mysterious shadows are fast creeping over the plain, and
the mounds of the ancient city lie at our feet, confused
and tumbled, like the waves of a dark sea. How high it
is here— how lonely— how silent! Hark that thin, plaintive

120 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

cry! It is the wail of a night-wandering jackal. See how
dark it is yonder, in the direction of the river! Quick,
quick! We have lingered too long. We must be gone at
once; for we are already benighted.

We ought* to have gone down by way of the opposite
staircase (which is lined with sculptures of the descending
procession) and out through the temple; but there is no
time to do anything but scramble down by a breach in the
wall at a point where the mounds yet lie heaped against the
south side of the building. And now the dusk steals on so
rapidly that before we reach the bottom we can hardly see
where to tread. The huge side wall of the portico seems
to tower above us to the very heavens. We catch a glimpse
of two colossal figures, one lion-headed and the other head-
less, sitting outside with their backs to the temple. Then,
making with all speed for the open plain, we clamber over
scattered blocks and among shapeless mounds. Presently
night overtakes us. The mountains disappear; the temple
is blotted out; and we have only the faint starlight to
guide us. We stumble on, however, keeping all close to-
gether; firing a gun every now and then, in the hope of
being heard by those in the boats; and as thoroughly
and undeniably lost as the babes in the wood.

At last, just as some are beginning to knock up, and all
to despair, Talhamy fires his last cartridge. An answering
shot replies from near by; a wandering light appears in
the distance; and presently a whole bevy of dancing lan-
terns and friendly brown faces come gleaming out from
among a plantation of sugar-canes to welcome and guide
us home. Dear, sturdy, faithful little Rei's Hassan, honest
Khalifeh, laughing Salame, gentle Mehemet Ali, and
Musa, " black but comely" — they were all there. What a
shaking of hands there was — what a gleaming of white
teeth — what a shower of mutually unintelligible congratu-
lations! For my own part, I may say with truth that I
never was much more rejoiced at a meeting in my life.

TUtiBES AND KABNAK. 121

CHAPTER VIII.

THEBES AND KARNAK.

Coming on deck the third morning after leaving Den-
derah, we found the dahabeeyah decorated with palm-
branches, our sailors in their holiday turbans, and Re'is
Hassan en grande tenuej that is to say, in shoes and stock-
ings, which he only wore on very great occasions.

"Neharak-sa'id — good-morning — Luxor!" said he, all in
one breath.

It was a hot, hazy morning, with dim ghosts of mount-
ains glowing through the mist and a warm wind blowing.

We ran to the side; looked out eagerly; but could see
nothing. Still the captain smiled and nodded; and the
sailors ran hither and thither, sweeping and garnishing;
and Egendi, to whom his worst enemy could not have im-
puted the charge of bashfulness, said: " Luxor — kharuf* —
all right!" — every time he came near us.

We had read and dreamed so much about Thebes, and
it had always seemed so far away, that but for this delicate
allusion to the promised sheep, we could hardly have be-
lieved we were really drawing nigh unto those famous
shores. About ten, however, the mist was lifted away like
a curtain, and we saw to the left a rich plain studded with
palm-groves; to the right a broad margin of cultivated
lands bounded by a bold range of limestone mountains;
and on the farthest horizon another range, all gray and
shadowy.

" Karnak — Grournah — Luxor!" says Rei's Hassan, tri-
umphantly, pointing in every direction at once. Talhamy
tries to show us Medinet Habu and the Memnonium. The
painter vows he can see the heads of the sitting colossi
and the entrance to the valley of the tombs of the kings.

We, meanwhile, stare bewildered, incredulous; seeing

* Arabic, " kharuf," pronounced "haroof" — English, sheep.

122 A THO US AND MILES UP THE NILE.

none of these things; finding it difficult, indeed, to believe
that any one else sees them. The river widens away
before us; the flats are green on either side; the mountains
are pierced with terraces of rock-cut tombs ; while far
away inland, apparently on the verge of the desert, we see
here a clump of sycamores — yonder a dark hillock — mid-
way between both a confused heap of something that may
be either fallen rock or fallen masonry; but nothing that
looks like a temple, nothing to indicate that we are already
within recognizable distance of the grandest ruins in the
world.

Presently, however, as the boat goes on, a massive, win-
dowless structure which looks (heaven preserve us !)
just like a brand-new fort or prison, towers up above
the palm-groves to the left. This, we are told, is one
of the propylons of Karnak; while a few whitewashed
huts and a little crowd of masts now coming into
sight a mile or so higher up mark the position of
Luxor. Then up capers Egendi with his never-failing
"Luxor — kharui — all right!" to fetch down the tar
and darabukkeh. The captain claps his hands. A circle
is formed on the lower deck. The men, all smiles, strike
up their liveliest chorus, and so, with barbaric music and
well-filled sails, and flags flying, and green boughs waving
overhead, we make our triumphal entry into Luxor.

The top of another pylon; the slender peak of an obelisk;
a colonnade of giant pillars half-buried in the soil; the
white houses of the English, American and Prussian con-
suls, each with its flagstaff and ensign; a steep slope of
sandy shore; a background of mud walls and pigeon-towers;
a foreground of native boats and gayly painted dahabeeyahs
lying at anchor — such, as we sweep by, is our first pan-
oramic view of this famous village. A group of turbaned
officials sitting in the shade of an arched doorway rise and
salute us as we pass. The assembled dahabeeyahs dozing
with folded sails, like sea-birds asleep, are roused to
spasmodic activity. Flags are lowered; guns are fired; all
Luxor is startled from its midday siesta. Then, before the
smoke has had time to clear off, up comes the Bagstones
in gallant form; whereupon the dahabeeyahs blaze away
again as before.

And now there is a rush of donkeys and donkey boys,
beggars, guides and antiquity-dealers, to the shore — the

THEBES AND KARNAK. \ :y.)

children screaming for backshish; the dealers exhibiting
strings of imitation scarabs; the donkey boys vociferating
the names and praises of their beasts; all alike regarding
us as their lawful prey.

"Hi, lady! Yankee-Doodle donkey; try Yankee Doo-
dle !" cries one.

" Far-away Moses !" yells another. " Good donkey —
fast donkey — best donkey in Luxor !"

"This Prince of Wales donkey !" shouts a third, haul-
ing forward a decrepit little weak-kneed, moth-eaten look-
ing animal, about as good to ride upon as a towel-horse.
"First-rate donkey! splendid donkey! God save the
queen ! Hurrah \"

But neither donkeys nor scarabs are of any importance
in our eyes just now, compared with the letters we hope to
find awaiting us on shore. No sooner, therefore, are the
boats made fast than we are all off, some to the British
consulate and some to the poste restante, from both of
which we return rich and happy.

Meanwhile we propose to spend only twenty-four "hours
in Luxor. We were to ride round Karnek this first after=
noon ; to cross to Medinet Habu and the Bamesseum* to-
morrow morning; and to sail again as soon after midday as
possible. We hope to get a general idea of the topography
of Thebes, and to carry away a superficial impression of
the architectural style of the Pharaohs. It would be but
a glimpse; yet that glimpse was essential. For Thebes
represents the great central period of Egyptian art. The
earlier styles lead up to that point; the later depart from it;
and neither the earlier nor the later are intelligible with-
out it. At the same time, however, travelers bound for
the second cataract do well to put off everything like a
detailed study of Thebes till the time of coming back.
For the present, a rapid survey of the three principal
group of ruins is enough. It supplies the necessary link,,
It helps one to a right understanding of Edfu, of Phila?,
of Abu Simbel. In a word, it enables one to put things

* This famous building is supposed by some to be identical both
with the Memnonium of Strabo and the tomb of Osymandias as
described by Diodorus Si cuius. Champollion, however, following
the sense of the hieroglyphed legends, in which it is styled "The
House of Rameses " (II), has given to it the more appropriate name
of the Ramesseum.

124 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

in their right places; and this, after all, is a mental process
which every traveler must perform for himself.

Thebes, I need scarcely say, was built, like London, on
both sides of the river. Its original extent must have been
very great; but its public buildings, its quays, its thousands
of private dwellings, are gone and have left few traces.
The secular city, which was built of crude brick, is repre-
sented by a few insignificant mounds; while of the sacred
edifice, five large groups of limestone ruins — three on the
western bank and two on the eastern, together with the re-
mains of several small temples and a vast multitude of
tombs — are all that remain in permanent evidence of its
ancient splendor. Luxor is a modern Arab village, occupy-
ing the site of one of the oldest of these five ruins. It
stands on the eastern bank, close agaiust the river, about
two miles south of Karnak and nearly opposite the famous
sitting colossi of the western plain. On the opposite
bank lie Gournah, the Ramesseum, aud Medinet Habu.
A glance at the map will do more than pages of explana-
tion to show the relative position of these ruins. The
Temple of Gournah, it will be seen, is almost vis-a-vis of
Karnak. The Ramesseum faces about half-way between
Karnak and Luxor. Medinet Habu is placed farther to
the south than any building on the eastern side of the
river. Behind these three western groups, reaching far
and wide along the edge of the Libyan range, lies the great
Theban "Necropolis; while farther back still, in the radiat-
ing valleys on the other side of the mountains, are found
the tombs of the kings. The distance between Karnak
and Luxor is a little less than two miles; while from Medi-
net Habu to the Temple of Gournah may be roughly
guessed at something under four. We have here, there-
fore, some indication of the extent, though not of the
limits, of the ancient city.

Luxor is a large village inhabited by a mixed population
of Copts and Arabs and doing a smart trade in antiquities.
The temple has here formed the nucleus of the village, the
older part of which has grown up in and about the ruins.
The grand entrance faces north, looking down toward
Karnak. The twin towers of the great propylon, dilapi-
dated as they are, stripped; of their cornices, incumbered
with debris, are magnificent still. In front of them, one
on each side of the central gateway sit two helmeted

THEBES AND EAENAK. 125

colossi, battered and featureless and buried to the chin,
like two of the proud in the doleful fifth circle. A few
yards in front of these again stands a solitary obelisk, also
half-buried. The colossi are of black granite; the obelisk
is of red, highly polished and covered on all four sides
with superb hieroglyphs in three vertical columns. These
hieroglyphs are engraved with the precision of the finest
gem. They are cut to a depth of about two inches in the
outer columns and five inches in the central column of the
inscription. The true height of this wonderful monolith
is over seventy feet, between thirty and forty of which are
hidden under the accumulated soil of many centuries. Its
companion obelisk, already scaling away by imperceptible
degrees under the skyey influences of an alien climate,
looks down with melancholy indifference upon the petty
revolutions and counter-revolutions of the Place de la
Concorde. On a line with the two black colossi, but some
fifty feet or so farther to the west, rises a third and some-
what smaller head of chert or limestone, the fellow to
which is doubtless hidden among the huts that encroach
half-way across the face of the eastern tower. The whole
outer surface of these towers is covered with elaborate
sculptures of gods and men, horses and chariots, the pa-
geantry of triumph' and the carnage of war. The king
in his chariot draws his terrible bow, or slays his enemies
on foot, or sits enthroned, receiving the homage of his
court. Whole regiments armed with lance and shield
march across the scene. The foe flies in disorder. The
king, attended by his fan-bearers, returns in state, and the
priests burn incense before hi in.

This king is Barneses II, called Sesostris and Osymandias
by ancient writers, and best known to history as Rameses
the Great. His actual names and titles as they stand upon
the monuments are Ra-user-ma Sotp-en-Ra Ra-messu Mer-
Amen; that is to say: " Ra strong in truth, approved of
Ra, son of Ra, beloved of Amen."

The battle scenes here represented relate to that memor-
able campaign against the Kheta, which forms the subject of
the famous " Third Sallier Papyrus."* and is commemorated

* Translated into French by the late Vicomte de Rouge under the
title of "Le Poernede Pentaour," 1856; into English by Mr. Goodwin,
1858; and again by Professor Lushington in 1874. See " Records of
the Past," vol, ii.

log A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

upon the walls of almost every temple built by this mon-
arch. Separated from his army and surrounded by the
enemy, the king, attended only by his chariot-driver, is
said to have six times charged the foe — to have hewn them
down with his sword of might — to have trampled them
like straw beneath his horses' feet — to have dispersed them,
single-handed, like a god. Two thousand five hundred
chariots were there and he overthrew them; one hundred
thousand warriors and he scattered them. Those that he
slew not with his hand he chased unto the water's edge,
causing them to leap to destruction as leaps the crocodile.
Such was the immortal feat of Rameses, and such the
chronicle written by the royal scribe, Pentaur.

Setting aside the strain of Homeric exaggeration, which
runs through this narrative, there can be no doubt that it
records some brilliant deed of arms actually performed by
the king, within sight, though not within reach, of his
army; and the hieroglyphic texts interspersed among these
tableaux state that the events depicted took place on the
fifth clay of the month Epiphi, in the fifth year of his reign.
By this we must understand the fifth year of his sole reign,
which would be five years after the death of his father,
Seti I, with whom he had from an early age been associated
on the throne. He was a man in the prime of life at the
time of this famous engagement, which was fought under
the walls of Kadesh on the Orontes; and the bas-relief
sculptures show him to have been accompanied by several
of his sons, who, though evidently very young, are repre-
sented in their war-chariots, fully armed and taking part
in the battle.*

The mutilated colossi are portrait statues of the con-
queror. The obelisk, in the pompous style of Egyptian
dedications, proclaims that "The Lord of the World,
Guardian-Sun of Truth, approved of Ra, has built this
edifice in honor of his father Amen Ra, and has erected
to him these two great obelisks of stone in face of the
house of Rameses in the city of Amnion."

* According to tbe great inscription of Abydos translated by Pro-
fessor Maspero, Rameses II would seem to have been in some sense
king from bis birtb, as if tbe tbrone of Egypt came to bim tbrougb
bis rnotber, and as if bis fatber, Seti I, bad reigned for bim during
bis infancy as king-regent, Some inscriptions, indeed, sbow bim to
bave received bomage even before bis birtb

THEBES AND EARNAK. 127

So stately was the approach made by Rameses the Great
to the temple founded about a hundred and fifty years be-
fore his time by Amenhotep III. He also built the court-
yard upon which this pylon opened, joining it to the older
part of the building in such wise that the original first court
became now the second court, while next in order came the
portico, the hall of assembly, and the sanctuary. By and by,
when the long line of Rameses had passed away, other and
later kings put their hands to the work. The names of Sha-
baka (Sabaco), of Ptolemy Philopater and of Alexander
the younger appear among the later inscriptions; while
those of Amenhotep IV (Khu-en-Aten), Horemheb and
Seti, the father of Rameses the Great, are found in the
earlier parts of the building. It was in this way that an
Egyptian temple grew from age to age, owing a colon-
nade to this king and a pylon to that, till it came in time
to represent the styles of many periods. Hence, too, that
frequent irregularity of plan, which, unless it could be
ascribed to the caprices of successive builders, would form
so unaccountable a feature in Egyptian architecture. In
the present instance, the pylon and court-yard of Rameses
II are set at an angle of five degrees to the court-yard and
sanctuary of Amenhotep III. This has evidently been
done to bring the Temple of Luxor into a line with the
Temple of Karnak, in order that the two might be con-
nected by means of that stupendous avenue of sphinxes,
the scattered remains of which yet strew the course of the
ancient roadway.

As I have already said, these half-buried pylons, this
solitary obelisk, those giant heads rising in ghastly resur-
rection before the gates of the temple, were magnificent
still. But it was as the magnificence of a splendid pro-
logue to a poem of which only garbled fragments remain.
Beyond that entrance lay a smoky, filthy, intricate laby-
rinth of lanes and passages. Mud hovels, mud pigeon-
towers, mud yards and a mud mosque, clustered like
wasps' nests in and about the ruins. Architraves sculpt-
ured with royal titles supported the roofs of squallid
cabins. Stately capitals peeped out from the midst of
sheds in which buffaloes, camels, donkeys, dogs and human
beings were seen herding together in unsavory fellowship.
Cocks crew, hens cackled, pigeons cooed, turkeys gobbled,
children swarmed, women were baking and gossiping and

128 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

all the sordid routine of Arab life was going on, amid
winding alleys that masked the colonnades and defaced the
inscriptions of the Pharaohs. To trace the plan of this
part of the building was then impossible.

All communication being cut off between the courts and
the portico, we had to go round outside and through a
door at the farther end of the temple in order to reach
the sanctuary and the adjoining chambers. The Arab
who kept the key provided an inch or two of candle. For
it was very dark in there; the roof being still perfect, with
a large, rambling, modern house built on the top of it — so
that if this part of the temple was ever partially lighted, as
at Denderah and elsewhere, by small wedge-like openings
in the roof, even those faint gleams were excluded.

The sanctuary, which was rebuilt in the reign of Alex-
ander iEgus; some small side chambers; and a large hall,
which was perhaps the hall of assembly, were all that
remained under cover of the original roofing-stones. Some
half-buried and broken columns on the side next the river
showed, however, that this end was formerly surrounded
by a colonnade. The sanctuary — an oblong granite cham-
ber with its own separate roof — stands inclosed in a larger
hall, like a box within a box, and is covered inside and
outside with bas-reliefs. These sculptures (among which
I observed a kneeling figure of the king, offering a kneel-
ing image of Amen Ra) are executed in the mediocre style
of the Ptolemies. That is to say, the forms are more
natural but less refined than those of the Pharaonic period.
The limbs are fleshy, the joints large, the features insignifi-
cant. Of actual portraiture one cannot detect a trace;
while every face wears the same objectionable smirk which
disfigures the Cleopatra of Denderah.

In the large hall, which I have called the hall of assem-
bly, one is carried back to the time of the founder.
Between Amenhotep III and Alexander iEgus there lies a
great gulf of twelve hundred years ; and their styles are as
widely separated as their reigns. The merest novice could
not possibly mistake the one for the other. Nothing is,
of course, more common than to find Egyptian and
Graco-Egyptian work side by side in the same temple; but
nowhere are the distinctive characteristics of each brought
into stronger contrast than in these dark chambers of
Luxor. In the sculptures that line the hall of Amenhotep

THEBES AND EARNAK. 129

we find the pure lines, the severe and slender forms, the
characteristic heads of a period when the art, having as
yet neither gained or lost by foreign influences, was entirely
Egyptian. The subjects relate chiefly to the infancy of
the king; but it is difficult to see anything properly by the
light of a candle tied to the end of a stick; and here,
where the bas-relief is so low and the wTalls are so high, it
is almost impossible to distinguish the details of the upper
tableaux.

I could make out, however, that Amen, Maut, and their
son Khonsu, the three personages of the Theban triad, are
the presiding deities of these scenes; and that they are in
some way identified with the fortunes of Thothmes IV,
his queen, and their son Amenhotep III. Amenhotep is
born, apparently, under the especial protection of Maut,
the divine mother ; brought up with the youthful god
Khonsu ; and received by Amen as the brother and equal
of his own divine son. I think it was in this hall that I
observed a singular group representing Amen and Maut in
an attitude symbolical perhaps of troth-plight or marriage.
They sit face to face, the goddess holding in her right
hand the left hand of the god, while in her left hand she
supports his right elbow. Their thrones, meanwhile, rest
on the heads and their feet are upheld on the hands of two
female genii. It is significant that Rameses III and one
of the ladies of his so-called hareem are depicted in the
same attitude in one of the famous domestic subjects
sculptured on the upper stories of the pavilion at Medinet
Habu.

We saw this interesting temple* much too cursorily ; yet

* The ruins of the great Temple of Luxor have undergone a com-
plete transformation since the above description was written; Pro-
fessor Maspero, during the two last years of his official rule as suc-
cessor to the late Mariette Pasha, having done for this magnificent
relic of Pharaonic times what his predecessor did for the more recent
temple of Edfoo. The difficulties of carrying out this great under-
taking were so great as to appear at the first sight almost insur-
mountable. The fellaheen refused at first to sell their houses;
Mustapha Aga asked the exorbitant price of £3,000 for his consular
residence, built as it was between the columns of Horemheb, facing
the river; and for no pecuniary consideration whatever was it possi-
ble to purchase the right of pulling down the mosque in the first great
court-yard of the temple. After twelve months of negotiation, the
fellaheen were at last bought out on tbe fair terms, each proprietor
receiving a stated price for his dwelling and a piece of land elsewhere

130 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE.

we gave more time to it than the majority of those
who year after year anchor for days together close under
its majestic columns. If the whole building could be
transported bodily to some point between Memphis and
Siiit, where the river is bare of ruins, it would be enthu-
siastically visited. Here it is eclipsed by the wonders of
Karnak and the western bank, and is undeservedly
neglected. Those parts of the original building which yet
remain are, indeed, peculiarly precious ; for Amenhotep,
or Amunoph III, was one of the great builder-kings of
Egypt, and we have here one of the few extant specimens
of his architectural work.

The Coptic quarter of Luxor lies north of the great
pylon and partly skirts the river. It is cleaner, wider,
more airy than that of the Arabs. The Prussian consul is
a Copt ; the polite postmaster is a Copt ; and in a modest
lodging built half beside and half over the Coptic church
lives the Coptic bishop. The postmaster (an ungainly
youth in a European suit so many sizes too small that his
arms and legs appeared to be sprouting out at the ends of

upon which to build another. Some thirty families were thus got
rid of, about eight or ten only refusing to leave at any price. The
work of demolition was begun in 1885. In 1886, the few
families yet lingering in the ruins followed the example of the rest;
and in the course of that season the temple was cleared from end to
end, only the little native mosque being left standing within the
precincts, and Mustapha Aga's house on the side next the landing-
place. Professor Maspero's resignation followed in 1887, since when
the work has been carried on by his successor, M. (jrebaut, with the
result that in place of a crowded, sordid, unintelligible labyrinth of
mud huts, yards, stables, alleys and dung-heaps, a noble temple,
second only to that of Karnak for grandeur of design and beauty of
proportion, now marshals its avenues of columns and uplifts its sculpt-
ured architraves along the crest of the ridge which here rises high
above the eastern bank of the Nile. Some of those columns, now that
they are cleared down to the level of the original pavement, measure
ii ft y seven feet in the shaft; and in the court-yard built by Kameses 11,
which measures one hundred and ninety feet by one hundred and
seventy, a series of beautiful colossal statues of that Pharaoh in
highly polished red granite have been discovered, some yet standing
;'// situ, having been built into the walls of the mud structures and im-
bedded (for who shall say how many centuries?) in a sepulcher of ig-
noble clay. Last of all, Mustapha Aga, the kindly and popular old
British consul, whose hospitality will long be remembered by English
travelers, died about twelvemonths since, and the house in which
he entertained so many English visitors, and upon which he set so
high a value, is even now in course of demolition.

TUEBES AND KARNAE. 131

his garments) was profuse in his offers of service. He
undertook to forward letters to us at Assiian, Korosko,
and Wady Halfah, where postoffices had lately been
established. And he kept his promise, I am bound to say,
with perfect punctuality— always adding some queer little
complimentary message on the outer wrapper, such as
" I hope you well my compliments;" or " Wishes you good
news pleasant voyage." As a specimen of his literary
style I copied the following notice, of which it was evident
that he was justly proud:

Notice : On the commandation. We Lave ordered the post
stations in lower Egypt from Assint to Cartoom. Belonging to the
Post Kedevy Egyptian in a good order. Now to pay for letters
in lower Egypt as in the upper Egypt twice. Means that the letters
which goes from here far than Asiiit; must pay for it two piastres per
ten grs. Also that which goes far than Cartoom. The letters which
goes between Asiut and Cartoom; must pay only one piastre per ten
grs. This and that is, to buy stamps from the Post and put it upon
the letter. Also if somebody wishes to send letters in insuranced,
must two piastres more for any letter. There is orderation in the
Post to receive the letters which goes to Europe, America and Asia,
as England France, Italy Germany, Syria, Constantinople etc. Also
to send newspapers patterns and other things.

" LTspettore," M. Adda.

Luxor the 1st January 1874.

This young man begged for a little stationery and a pen-
knife at parting. We had, of course, much pleasure in
presenting him with such a modest testimonial. We after-
ward learned that he levied the same little tribute on
every dahabeeyah that came up the river; so I conclude
that he must by this time have quite an interesting collec-
tion of small cutlery.

From the point where the railroad ends the Egyptian
and Nubian mails are carried by runners stationed at dis-
tances of four miles all along the route. Each man runs
his four miles, and at the end thereof finds the next man
ready to snatch up his bag and start off at full speed imme-
diately. The next man transfers it in like manner to the
next; and so it goes by day and night without a break, till
it reaches the first railway station. Each runner is sup-
posed to do his four miles in half an hour, and the mail
which goes out every morning from Luxor reaches Cairo
in six days. Considering that Cairo was four hundred
and fifty miles away, that two hundred and sixty-eight

132 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

miles of this distance had to be done on foot, and that the
trains went only once a day, we thought this a very credit-
able speed.

In the afternoon we took donkeys and rode out to
Karnak. Our way lay through the bazaar, which was the
poorest we had yet seen. It consisted of only a few open
sheds, in one of which, seated on a mud-built divan, cross-
legged and turbaniess like a row of tumbler mandarins, we
saw five of our sailors under the hands of the Luxor barber.
He had just lathered all five heads, and was complacently
surveying the effect of his work, much as an artistic cook
might survey a dish of particularly successful meringues a
la creme. The meringues looked very sheepish when we
laughed and passed by.

Next came the straggling suburb where the dancing-girls
most do congregate. These damsels in gaudy garments of
emerald green, bright rose and flaming yellow, were
squatting outside their cabins or lounging unveiled about
the thresholds of two or three dismal dens of cafes in the
market-place. They showed their teeth and laughed
familiarly in our faces. Their eyebrows were painted to
meet on the bridge of the nose; their eyes were blackened
round with kohl; their cheeks were extravagantly rouged;
their hair was gummed, and greased, and festooned upon
their foreheads, and plaited all over in innumerable tails.
Never before had we seen anything in female form so
hideous. One of these houris was black; and she looked
quite beautiful in her blackness, compared with the paint-
ing and plastering of her companions.

We now left the village behind and rode out across a
wide plain, barren and hillocky in some parts; overgrown
in others with coarse halfeh grass; and dotted here and
there with clumps of palms. The Nile lay low and out of
sight, so that the valley seemed to stretch away uninter-
ruptedly to the mountains on both sides. Now leaving to
the left a sheik's tomb, topped by a little cupola and
shaded by a group of tamarisks; now following the bed of
a dry watercourse; now skirting shapeless mounds that in-
dicated the site of ruins unexplored, the road, uneven but
direct, led straight to Karnak. At every rise in the
ground we saw the huge popylons towering higher above
the palms. Once, but for only a few moments, there
came into sight a confused and wide-spread mass of ruins,

T1IEBES AND KARNAK. 133

as extensive, apparently, as the ruins of a large town.
Then our way dipped into a sandy groove bordered by mud-
walls and plantations of dwarf-palms. All at once this
groove widened, became a stately avenue guarded by a
double file of shattered sphinxes, and led toward a lofty
pylon standing up alone against the sky.

Close beside this grand gateway, as if growing there on
purpose, rose a thicket of sycamores and palms ; while
beyond it were seen the twin pylons of a temple. The
sphinxes were colossal, and measured about ten feet in
length. One or two were ram-headed. Of the rest — some
forty or fifty in number — all were headless, some split
asunder, some overturned, others so mutilated that they
looked like torrent- worn bowlders. This avenue once
readied from Luxor to Karnak. Taking into account the
distance (which is just two miles from temple to temple)
and the short intervals at which the sphinxes are placed,
there cannot originally have been fewer than five hundred
of them; that is to say, two hundred and fifty on each side
of the road.

Dismounting for a few minutes, we went into the
temple ; glanced round the open court-yard with its
colonnade of pillars; peeped hurriedly into some ruinous
side-chambers; and then rode on. Our books told us that
we had seen the small temple of Barneses III. It would
have been called large- any where but at Karnak.

I seem to remember the rest as if it had all happened in
a dream. Leaving the small temple, we turned toward the
river, skirted the mud walls of the native village, and
approached the great temple by way of its main entrance.
Here we entered upon what had once been another great
avenue of sphinxes, ram-headed, couchant on plinths deep
cut with hieroglyphic legends, and leading up from some
grand landing-place beside the Nile.

And now the towers that we had first seen as we sailed
by in the morning rose straight before us, magnificent in
ruin, glittering to the sun, and relieved in creamy light
against blue depths of sky. One was nearly perfect; the
other, shattered as if by the shock of an earthquake, was
still so lofty thau an Arab clambering from block to block
midway of its vast height looked no bigger than a squirrel.

On the threshold of this tremendous portal we again dis-
mounted. Shapeless crude-brick mounds, marking the

134 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

limits of the ancient wall of circuit, reached far away on
either side. An immense perspective of pillars and
pylons leading up to a very distant obelisk opened out
before us. We went in, the great walls towering up like
cliffs above our heads, and entered the first court. Here,
in the midst of a large quadrangle open to the sky, stands
a solitary column, the last of a central avenue of twelve,
some of which, disjointed by the shock, lie just as they
fell, like skeletons of vertebrate monsters left stranded by
the flood.

Crossing this court in the glowing sunlight, we came to
a mighty doorway between two more propylons — the
doorway splendid with colored bas-reliefs; the propylons
mere cataracts of fallen blocks piled up to right and
left in grand confusion. The cornice of the doorway is
gone. Only a jutting fragment of the lintel stone remains.
That stone, when perfect, measured forty feet and ten
inches across. The doorway must have been full a
hundred feet in height.

We went on. Leaving to the right a mutilated colossus
engraven on arm and breast with the cartouche of Kameses
II, we crossed the shade upon the threshold and passed
into the famous Hypostyle Hall of Seti I.

It is a place that has been much written about and often
painted; but of which no writing and no art can convey
more than a dwarfed and pallid impression. To describe
it, in the sense of building up a recognizable image by
means of words, is impossible. The scale is too vast; the
effect too tremendous; the sense of one's own dumbness,
and littleness, and incapacity, too complete and crushing.
It is a place that strikes you into silence; that empties
you, as it were, not only of words but of ideas. Nor is
this a first effect only. Later in the year, when we came
back down the river and moored close by, and spent long
days among the ruins, I found I never had a word to say
in the great hall. Others might measure the girth of those
tremendous columns; others might climb hither and
thither, and find out points of view, and test the accuracy
of AYilkinson and Mariette; but I could only look and be
silent*

Yet to look is something, if one can but succeed in
remembering ; and the great hall of Karnak is photo-
graphed in some dark corner of my brain for as long as I

THEBES A ND KA RNAK. L35

have memory. I slmt my eyes, and see it as if I were
there — not all at once, as in a picture ; but bit by bit, as
the eye takes note of large objects and travels over an ex-
tended field of vision. I stand once more among those
mighty columns, which radiate into avenues from what-
ever point one takes them. I see them swathed in coiled
shadows and broad bands of light. I see them sculptured
and painted with shapes of gods and kings, with blazon-
ings of royal names, with sacrificial altars, and forms of
sacred beasts, and emblems of wisdom and truth. The
shafts of these columns are enormous. I stand at the foot
of one — or of what seems to be the foot; for the original
pavement lies buried seven feet below. Six men standing
with extended arms, finger-tip to finger-tip, could barely
span it round. It casts a shadow twelve feet in breadth —
such a shadow as might be cast by a tower. The capital
that juts out so high above my head looks as if it might
have been placed there to support the heavens. It is
carved in the semblance of a full-blown lotus, and glows
with undying colors — colors that are still fresh, though
laid on by hands that have been dust these three thousand
years and more. It would take not six men, but a dozen,
to measure round the curved lip of that stupendous lily.

Such are the twelve central columns. The rest (one
hundred and twenty-two in number) are gigantic, too, but
smaller. Of the roof they once supported, only the beams
remain. Those beams are stones — huge monoliths* carved
and painted, bridging the space from pillar to pillar, and
patterning the trodden soil with bands of shadow.

Looking up and down the central avenue, we see at the

* The size of these stones not being given in any of onr books, I
paced the length of one of the shadows, and (allowing for so much
more at each end as would be needed to reach to the centers of the two
capitals on which it rested) found the block above must measure at
least twenty five feet in length. The measurements of the great hall
are, in plain figures, one hundred and seventy feet in length by
three hundred and twenty-nine in breadth. It contains one hundred
and thirty-four columns, of which the central twelve stand sixty-two
feet high in the shaft (or about seventy with the plinth and abacus),
and measure thirty-four feet six inches in circumference. The
smaller columns stand forty-two feet five inches in the shaft, and
measure twenty-eight feet in circumference. All are buried to a
depth of between six and seven feet in the alluvial deposits of between
three and four thousand annual inundations.

136 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

one end a flame-like obelisk ; at the other, a solitary palm
against a background of glowing mountain. To right, to
left, showing transversely through long files of columns,
we catch glimpses of colossal bas-reliefs lining the roofless
walls in every direction. The king, as usual, figures in
every group, and performs the customary acts of worship.
The gods receive and approve him. Half in light, half in
shadow, these slender, fantastic forms stand out sharp and
clear and colorless ; each figure some eighteen or twenty
feet in height. They could scarcely have looked more
weird when the great roof was in its place and perpetual
twilight reigned. But it is difficult to imagine the roof
on and the sky shut out. It all looks right as it is; and
one feels, somehow, that such columns should have noth-
ing between them and the infinite blue depths of heaven.

The great central avenue was, however, sufficiently
lighted by means of a double row of clerestory windows,
some of which are yet standing. Certain writers have
suggested that they may have been glazed; but this seems
improbable for two reasons. Firstly, because one or two
of these huge window-frames yet contain the solid stone
gratings which in the present instance seem to have done
duty for a translucent material; and, secondly, because we
have no evidence to show that the early Egyptians, though
familiar since the days of Cheops with the use of the blow-
pipe, ever made glass in sheets, or introduced it in this
way into their buildings.

How often has it been written, and how often must it
be repeated, that the great hall at Karnak is the noblest
architectural work ever designed and executed by human
hands ? One writer tells us that it covers four times the
area occupied by the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris.
Another measures it against St. Peter's. All admit their
inability to describe it; yet all attempt the description.
To convey a concrete image of the place to one who has
not seen it, is, however, as I have already said, impossible.
If it could be likened to this place or that, the task would
not be so difficult; but there is, in truth, no building in
the wide world to compare with it. The pyramids are
more stupendous. The colosseum covers more ground.
The parthenon is more beautiful. Yet in nobility of con-
ception, in vastness of detail, in majesty of the highest
order, the hall of pillars exceeds them every one. This

THEBES AND KARNAK. 137

doorway, these columns, are the wonder of the world.
How was that lintel-stone raised ? How were these capi-
tals lifted ? Entering among those mighty pillars, says a
recent observer, " you feel that you have shrunk to the
dimensions and feebleness of a fly." But I think you feel
more than that. You are stupefied by the thought of the
mighty men who made them. You say to yourself:
" There were indeed giants in those days."

It may be that the traveler who finds himself for the
first time in the midst of a grove of Wellingtonia gigantea
feels something of the same overwhelming sense of awe and
wonder; but the great trees, though they have taken three
thousand years to grow, lack the pathos and the mystery
that comes of human labor. They do not strike their roots
through six thousand years of history. They have not
been watered with the blood and tears of millions.* Their
leaves know no sounds less musical than the singing of
birds, or the moaning of the night-wind as it sweeps over
the highlands of Calaveros. But every breath that wanders
down the painted aisles of Karnak seems to echo back the
sighs of those who perished in the quarry, at the oar, and
under the chariot-wheels of the conqueror.

The Hypostyle Hall, though built by Seti, the father of
Eameses II, is supposed by some Egyptologists to have
been planned, if not begun, by that same Amenhotep III
who founded the Temple of Luxor and set up the famous
colossi of the plain. However this may be, the cartouches
so lavishly sculptured on pillar and architrave contain no
names but those of Seti, who undoubtedly executed the
work en bloc, and of Barneses, who completed it.

And now, would it not be strange if we knew the name
and history of the architect who superintended the build-
ing of this wondrous hall, and planned the huge doorway
by which it was entered, and the mighty pylons which lie
shattered on either side? Would it not be interesting to
look upon his portrait and see what manner of man he
was? Well, the Egyptian room in the Glyptothek museum
at Munich contains a statue found some seventy years ago
at Thebes, which almost certainly represents that man, and
is inscribed with his history. His name was Bak-en-

* It lias been calculated that every stone of these huge Pharaonic
temples cost at least one human life.

138 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Khonsu (servant of Khonsu). He sits upon the ground,
bearded and robed, in an attitude of meditation. That he
was a man of unusual ability is shown by the inscriptions
engraved upon the back of the statue. These inscriptions
record his promotion, step by step, to the highest grade of
the hierarchy. Having obtained the dignity of high priest
and first prophet of Amen during the reign of Seti I,
he became chief architect of the Thebaicl under
Barneses IT, and received a royal commission to superin-
tend the embellishment of the temples. When Eameses
II "erected a monument to his divine father Amen Ra,"
the building thereof was executed under the direction of
Bak-en-Khousu. Here the inscription, as translated by
M. Deveria, goes on to say that " he made the sacred
edifice in the upper gate of the abode of Amen.* Ho
erected obelisks of granite. He made golden flagstaff's.
He added very, very great colonnades."

M. Deveria suggests that the Temple of Gournah may
here be indicated; but to this it might be objected that
Gournah is situated in the lower and not the upper part of
Thebes; that at Gournah there are no great colonnades
and no obelisks; and that, moreover, for some reason at
present unknown to us, the erection of obelisks seems to
have been wholly confined to the eastern bank of the Nile.
It is, however, possible that the works here enumerated
may not all have been executed for one and the same tem-
ple. The " sacred edifice in the upper gate of the abode
of Amen" might be the Temple of Luxor, which Rameses
did in fact adorn with the oidy obelisks we know to be
his in Thebes; the monument erected by him to his divine
father Amen (evidently a new structure) would scarcely
be any other than the Ratnesseum; while the "very, very
great colonnades," which are expressly specified as addi-
tions, would seem as if they could only belong to the Hy-
postyle Hall of Karnak. The question is at all events in-
teresting; and it is pleasant to believe that in the Munich
statue we have not only a portrait of one who at Karnak
played the part of Michael Angelo to some foregone and

* i. e. Per Amen, or Pa- Amen ; one of the ancient names of
Thebes, which was the city especially dedicated to Amen. Also Apt,
or Abot, or Apetou, by some ascribed to an Indo-Germanic root
signifying abode. Another name for Thebes, and probably the one
most in use, was Uas.

THEBES AND KARNAK. 139

forgotten Bramante, but who was also the Ictinus of the
Ramesseum. For the Ramesseum is the Parthenon of
Thebes.

The sun was sinking and the shadows were lengthening
when, having made the round of the principal ruins, we
at length mounted our donkeys and turned toward Luxor.
To describe all that we saw after leaving the great hall
would fill a chapter. Huge obelisks of shining granite —
some yet erect, some shattered and prostrate; vast lengths
of sculptured walls covered with wondrous battle subjects,
sacerdotal processions, and elaborate chronicles of the
deeds of kings ; ruined court-yards surrounded by files of
headless statues; a sanctuary built all of polished granite,
and engraven like a gem; a second hall of pillars dating
back to the early days of Thothmes III ; labyrinths of
roofless chambers; mutilated colossi, shattered pylons,
fallen columns, unintelligible foundations and hieroglyphic
inscriptions without end, were glanced at, passed by,
and succeeded by fresh wonders. I dare not say how many
small outlying temples we saw in the course of that rapid
survey. In one place we came upon an undulating tract
of coarse half eh grass, in the midst of which, battered,
defaced, forlorn, sat a weird company of green granite
sphinxes and lioness-headed basts. In another, we saw a
magnificent colossal hawk upright on his pedestal in the
midst of a bergfall of ruins. More avenues of sphinxes,
more pylons, more colossi were passed before the road we
took in returning brought us round to that by which we
had come. By the time we reached the sheik's tomb, it
was nearly dusk. We rode back across the plain, silent
and bewildered. Have I not said that it was like a
dream ?

140 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER IX.

THEBES TO ASSUAN".

Hurrying close upon the sevenest of Egyptian sunsets
came a night of storms. The wind got up about ten. By
midnight the river was racing in great waves, and our
dahabeeyah rolling at her moorings like a ship at sea. The
sand, driving in furious gusts from the Libyan desert,
dashed like hail against our cabin windows. Every moment
we were either bumping against the bank or being rammed
by our own felucca. At length, a little before dawn, a
huge slice of the bank gave way, thundering like an
avalanche upon our decks; whereupon Reis Hassan, being-
alarmed for the safety of the boat, hauled us up to a little
sheltered nook a few hundred yards higher. Taking it
altogether, we had not had such a lively night since leaving
Benisouef.

The lookout next morning was dismal — the river run-
ning high in yeasty waves ; the boats all huddled together
under the shore ; the western bank hidden in clouds of
sand. To get under way was impossible, for the wind was
dead against us ; and to go anywhere by land was equally
out of the question. Karnak in a sand-storm would have
been grand to see ; but one would have needed a diving-
helmet to preserve eyes and ears from destruction.

Toward afternoon the fury of the wind so far subsided
that we were able to cross the river and ride to Medinet
Habu and the Ramesseum. As we achieved only a passing
glimpse of these wonderful ruins, I will for the present
say nothing about them. We came to know them so well
hereafter that no mere first impression would be worth
record.

A light but fitful breeze helped us on next day as far as
Erment, the Ptolemaic Hermonthis, once the site of a
goodly temple, now of an important sugar factory. Here
we moored for the night, and after dinner received a visit

THEBES TO ASSUAN. 141

of ceremony from the bey — a tall, slender, sharp-featured,
bright-eyed man in European dress, remarkably dignified
and well bred — who came attended by his secretary,
Kawass, and pipe-bearer. Now the Bey of Erment is a
great personage in these parts. He is governor of the
town as well as superintendent of the sugar factory ; holds
a military command; has his palace and gardens close by,
and his private steamer on the river; and is, like most high
officials in Egypt, a Turk of distinction. The secretary,
who was the bey's younger brother, wore a brown Inver-
ness cape over a long white petticoat, and left his slippers
at the saloon door. He sat all the time with his toes
curiously doubled under, so that his feet looked like
clenched fists in stockings. Both gentlemen wore tar-
booshes and carried visiting-canes. The visiting-cane, by
the way, plays a conspicuous part in modern Egyptian
life. It measures about two and a half feet in length, is
tipped at both ends with gold or silver, and is supposed to
add the last touch of elegance to the bearer.

We entertained our guests with cotfee and lemonade,
and, as well as we could, with conversation. The bey,
who spoke only Turkish and Arabic, gave a flourishing
account of the sugar works, and dispatched his pipe-bearer
for a bundle of fresh canes and some specimens of raw and
candied sugars. He said he had an English foreman and
several English workmen, and that for the English as a
nation he had the highest admiration and regard; but that
the Arabs "had no heads." To our inquiries about the
ruins, his replies were sufficiently discouraging. Of the
large temple every vestige had long since disappeared ;
Avhile of the smaller one only a few columns and part of
the walls were yet standing. They lay out beyond the"
town and a long way from the river. There was very
little to see. It was all "sagheer" (small); " moosh-
taiib" (bad) ; not worth the trouble of the walk. As for
"anteekahs," they were rarely found here, and when found
were of slight value.

A scarab which he wore in a ring was then passed
round and admired. It fell to our little lady's turn to
examine it last and restore it to the owner. But the
owner, with a bow and a deprecating gesture, would have
none of it. The ring was a toy — a nothing — the lady's
— his no longer. She was obliged to accept it, however un-

142 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

willingly. To decline would have been to offend. But it was
the way iu which the thing was done that made the charm
of this little incident. The grace, the readiness, the cour-
tesy, the lofty indifference of it, were alike admirable.
Macready in his best days could have done it with as
princely an air; but even he would probably have missed
something of the oriental reticence of the Bey of Erment.

He then invited us to go over the sugar factory (which
we declined on account of the lateness of the hour), and
presently took his leave. About ten minutes after came a
whole posse of presents — three large bouquets of roses for
the sittat (ladies), two scarabei, a small funereal statuette
in the rare green porcelain, and a live turkey. We in re-
turn sent a complicated English knife with all sorts of
blades, and some pots of English jam.

The wind rose next morning with the sun, and by break-
fast time we had left Erment far behind. All that day the
good breeze served us well. The river was alive with cargo-
boats. The Philaj put on her best speed. The little Bag-
stones kept up gallantly. And theFostitt, a large iron da-
habeeyah full of English gentlemen, kept us close company
all the afternoon. We were all alike bound for Esneh,
which is a large trading town and lies twenty-six miles south
of Erment.

Now, at Esneh the men were to bake again. Great,
therefore, was Rei's Hassan's anxiety to get in first, secure
the oven and buy the flour before dusk. The rei's of the
Fostat and he of the Bagstones were equally anxious, and
for the same reasons. Our men, meanwhile, were wild
with excitement, watching every manuever of the other
boats; hanging on to the shoghool like a swarm of bees;
and obeying the word of command with unwonted alacrity.
As we neared the goal the race grew hotter. The honor of
the boats was at stake, and the bread question was for the
moment forgotten. Finally all three dahabeeyahs ran in
abreast and moored side by side in front of a row of little
open cafes, just outside the town.

Esneh (of which the old Egyptian civil name was Sni,
and the Roman name Latopolis) stands high upon the
mounds of the ancient city. It is a large place — as large,
apparently, as Minieh, and, like Minieh, it is the capital
of a province. Here dragomans lay in provision of limes,
charcoal, flour and live stock for the Nubian journey; and

THEBES TO ASSUAN. 143

crews bake for the lust time before their return to Egypt.
For in Nubia food is scarce and prices are high, and there
are no public ovens.

It was about five o'clock on a market day when we
reached Esneh and the market was not yet over. Going
up through the usual labyrinth of windowless mud-alleys
where the old men crouched, smoking, under every bit of
sunny wall, and the children swarmed like flies, and the
cry for backshish buzzed incessantly about our ears, we came
to an open space in the upper part of the town, and found our-
selves all at once in the midst of the market. Here were
peasant-folk selling farm produce ; stall-keepers displaying
combs, looking-glasses, gaudy printed handkerchiefs and
cheap bracelets of bone and colored glass; camels lying at
ease and snarling at every passer-by; patient donkeys; own-
erless dogs; veiled women; blue and black robed men; and
all the common sights and sounds of a native market. Here
too, we found Reis Hassan bargaining for flour, Talhemy
haggling with a charcoal dealer; and the M. B.'s buying
turkeys and geese for themselves and a huge store of to-
bacco for their crew. Most welcome sight of all, however,
was a dingy chemist's shop, about the size of a sentry-box,
over the door of which was suspended an Arabic inscrip-
tion; while inside, robed all in black, sat a lean and
grizzled Arab, from whom we bought a big bottle of rose-
water to make eye-lotion for L 's ophthalmic patients.

Meanwhile there was a temple to be seen at Esneh; and
this temple, as we had been told, was to be found close
against the market-place. We looked round in vain, how-
ever, for any sign of pylon or portico. The chemist said
it was " kureiyib," which means "near by." A camel-
driver pointed to a dilapidated wooden gateway in a recess
between two neighboring houses. A small boy volunteered
to lead the way. We were greatly puzzled. We had ex-
pected to see the temple towering above the surrounding
houses, as at Luxor, and could by no means understand
how any large building to which that gateway might give
access should not be visible from without.

The boy, however, ran and thumped upon the gate and
shouted "Abbas! Abbas !" Mehemet Ali, who was doing
escort, added some thundering blows with his staff and a
little crowd gathered, but no Abbas came.

The by-standers, as usual, were liberal with their advice;

144 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

recommending the boy to climb over and the sailor to
knock louder and suggesting that Abbas the absent might
possibly be found in a certain neighboring cafe. At
length I somewhat impatiently expressed my opinion that
there was "Mafeesh Birbeh"(no temple at all); where-
upon a dozen voices were raised to assure me that the Bir-
beh was no myth — that it was "kebir' (big) — that it was
"kwy-ees" (beautiful) — and that all the "Ingleez" came
to see it.

In the midst of the clamor, however, and just as we are
about to turn away in despair, the gate creaks open ; the
gentlemen of the Fostat troop out in puggaries and knick-
erbockers; and we are at last admitted.

This is what we see — a little yard surrounded by mud
walls; at the farther end of the yard a dilapidated door-
way; beyond the doorway, a strange-looking, stupendous
mass of yellow limestone masonry, long and low and level
and enormously massive. A few steps farther and this
proves to be the curved cornice of a mighty temple — a
temple neither ruined nor defaced, but buried to the chin
in the accumulated rubbish of a score of centuries. This
part is evidently the portico. We stand close under a row
of huge capitals. The columns that support them are
buried beneath our feet. The ponderous cornice juts out
above our heads. From the level on which we stand to the
top of that cornice may measure about twenty-five feet. A
high mud wall runs parallel to the whole width of the
facade, leaving a passage of about twelve feet in breadth
between the two. A low mud parapet and a hand-
rail reach from capital to capital. All beyond is vague,
cavernous, mysterious — a great shadowy gulf, in the midst
of which dim ghosts of many columns are darkly visible.
From an opening between two of the capitals a flight of
brick steps leads down into a vast hall so far below "the
surface of the outer world, so gloomy, so awful, that it
might be the portico of Hades.

Going down these steps we come to the original level of
the temple. We tread the ancient pavement. We look
np to the massive ceiling, recessed and sculptured and
painted, like the ceiling at Denderah. We could almost
believe, indeed, that we are again standing in the portico
of Denderah. The number of columns is the same. The
arrangement of the intercolumnar screen is the same.

THEBES TO A8SUAN. 145

The general effect and the main features of the plan are
the same. In some respects, however, Esneh is even more
striking. The columns, though less massive than those of
Denderah, are more elegant and look loftier. Their shafts
are covered with figures of gods and emblems and lines of
hieroglyphed inscription, all cut in low relief. Their cap-
itals, in place of the huge draped Hathor-heads of Den-
derah, are studied from natural forms — from the lotus-
lily, the papyrus-blossom, the plumy date-palm. The
wall-sculpture, however, is inferior to that at Denderah
and immeasurably inferior to the wall-sculpture at Karnak.
The figures are of the meanest Ptolemaic type and all of
one size. The inscriptions, instead of being grouped
wherever there happened to be space and so producing the
richest form of wall decoration ever devised by man, are
disposed in symmetrical columns, the effect of which, when
compared with the florid style of Karnak, is as the method-
ical neatness of an engrossed deed to the splendid freedom
of an illuminated manuscript.

The steps occupy the place of the great doorway. The
jambs and part of the cornice, the intercolumnar screen,
the shafts of the columns under whose capitals we came in,
are all there, half-projecting from and half-imbedded in
the solid mound beyond. The light, however, comes in
from so high up and through so narrow a space, that one's
eyes need to become accustomed to the darkness before any
of these details can be distinguished. Then, by degrees,
forms of deities familiar and unfamiliar emerge from the
gloom.

The temple is dedicated to Knum*or Kneph, the soul of

* Knuni was one of the primordial gods of the Egyptian cosmogony;
the divine potter; he who fashioned man from the clay and breathed
into him the breath of life. He is sometimes represented in the act
of fashioning the first man, or that mysterious egg from which not
only man but the universe proceeded, by means of the ordinary pot-
ter's wheel. Sometimes also he is depicted in his boat, moving upon
the face of the waters at the dawn of creation. About the time of
the twentieth dynasty, Knuni became identified with Ra. He also
was identified with Amen, and was worshiped in the great oasis in
the Greek period as Amen-Knum. He is likewise known as " The
Soul of the Gods," and in this character, as well as in his solar char-
acter, he is represented with the head of a ram, or in the form of a
ram. Another of his titles is " The Maker of Gods and Men." Knum
was also one of the gods of the cataract, and chief of the Triad wor-
shiped at Elephantine. An inscription at Phila? styles him "Maker
of all that is, Creator of all beings, First existent, the Father of
fathers, the Mother of mothers. "

146 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the world, whom we now see for the first time. He is
ram-headed and holds in his hand the "ankh," or emblem
of life. Another new acquaintance is Bes,* the grotesque
god of mirth and jollity.

Two singular little erections, built in between the
columns to right and left of the steps, next attract onr at-
tention. They are like stone sentry-boxes. Each is in
itself complete, with roof, sculptured cornice, doorway,
and, if I remember rightly, a small square window in the
side. The inscriptions upon two similar structures, in the
portico at Edfu show that the right-hand closet contained,
the sacred books belonging to the temple, while in the
closet to the left of the main entrance the king underwent
the ceremony of purification. It may therefore be taken
for granted that these at Esneh were erected for the same
purposes.

And now we look around for the next hall — and look in
vain. The doorway which should lead to it is walled up.
The portico was excavated by Mohammed Ali in 1842; not
in any spirit of antiquarian zeal, bnt in order to provide a
safe underground magazine for gunpowder. Up to that
time, as may be seen by one of the illustrations to Wilkin-
son's " Thebes and General View of Egypt," the interior was
choked to within a few feet of the capitals of the columns,
and used as a cotton-store. Of the rest of the building
nothing is known; nothing is visible. It is as large, prob-
ably, as Denderah or Edfu. and in as perfect preservation.
So, at least, says local tradition; but not even local tradi-
tion can point out to what extent it underlies the founda-
tions of the modern houses that swarm above its roof. An
inscription first observed by Champollion states that the
sanctuary was built by Thothmes III. Is that antique
sanctuary still there? Has the temple grown step by step
under the hands of successive kings, as at Luxor? Or has
it been re-edi6ed ab ovo, as at Denderah? These are
" puzzling questions," only to be resolved by the demolition
of a quarter of the town. Meanwhile what treasures of

* Bes. " La culta de Bes parait gtre une iinportation Asiatique.
Quelquefois le dieu est arme d'une epee qu'il brandit au-dessus de
sa tSte; dans ce role, il senible le dieu des combats. Plus souvent
c'est le dieu ce la danse, de la musique, des plaisirs." — Mariette
Bey.

THEBES TO ASS U AN. 147

sculptured history, what pictured chambers, what buried
bronzes and statues may here await the pick of the ex-
cavator !

All next day, while the men were baking, the writer sat
in a corner of the outer passage and sketched the portico
of the temple. The sun rose upon the one horizon and set
upon the other before that drawing was finished; yet for
scarcely more than one hour did it light up the front of
the temple. At about half-past nine a.m. it first caught
the stoue fillet at the angle. Then, one by one, each
massy capital became outlined with a thin streak of gold.
As this streak widened the cornice took fire, and presently
the whole stood out in light against the sky. Slowly then,
but quite preceptibly, the sun traveled across the narrow
space overhead ; the shadows became vertical ; the light
changed sides; and by ten o'clock there was shade for the
remainder of the day. Toward noon, however, the sun
being then at its highest and the air transfused with light,
the inner columns, swallowed up till now in darkness, be-
came illuminated with a wonderful reflected light, and
glowed from out the gloom like pillars of fire.

Never to go on shore without an escort is one of the
rules of Nile life, and Salame has by this time become my
exclusive property. He is a native of Assuan, young,
active, intelligent, full of fun, hot-tempered withal, and as
thorough a gentleman as I have ever had the pleasure of
knowing. For a sample of his good-breeding, take this
day at Esneh — a day which he might have idled away in
the bazaars and cafes, and which it must have been dull
work to spend cooped up between a mud wall and an out-
landish birbeb, built by the Djinns who reigned before
Adam. Yet Salame betrays no discontent. Curled up in
a shady corner, he watches me like a dog; is ready with an
umbrella as soon as the sun comes round; and replenishes
a water bottle or holds a color box as deftly as though he
had been to the manner born. At one o'clock arrives my
luncheon, enshrined in a pagoda of plates. Being too
busy to leave off work, however, I put the pagoda aside,
and dispatch Salame to the market, to buy himself some
dinner; for which purpuse, wishing to do the thing hand-
somely, I present him with the magnificent sum of two
silver piasters, or about five pence English. With this he
contrives to purchase three or four cakes of flabby native

148 4 THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

bread, a black-looking rissole of chopped meat and vege-
tables, and about a pint of dried dates.

Knowing this to be a better dinner than my friend gets
every day, knowing also that our sailors habitually eat at
noon, I -am surprised to see him leave these dainties un-
tasted. In vain I say " Bismillah" (in the name of God);
pressing him to eat in vocabulary phrases eked out with
expressive pantomine. He laughs, shakes his head, and,
asking permission to smoke a cigarette, protests he is not
hungry. Thus three more hours go by. Accustomed to
long fasting and absorbed in my sketch, I forget all about
the pagoda; and it is past four o'clock when I at length
set to work to repair tissue at the briefest possible cost of
time and daylight. And now the faithful Salame falls to
with an energy that causes the cakes, the rissole, the dates,
to vanish as if by magic. .Of what remains from my
luncheon he also disposes in a trice. Never, unless in a
pantomine, have I seen mortal man display so prodigious
an appetite.

I made Talhamy scold him, by and by, for this piece of
voluntary starvation.

"By my prophet!" said he, "am I a pig or a dog, that
I should eat when the sitt was fasting?"

It was at Esneh, by the way, that that hitherto undiscov-
ered curiosity, an ancient Egyptian coin, was offered to
me for sale. The finder was digging for niter, and turned
it up at an immense depth below the mounds on the out-
skirts of the town. He volunteered to show the precise
spot, and told his artless tale with child-like simplicity.
Unfortunately, however, for the authenticity of this re-
markable relic, it bore, together with the familiar profile
of George IV, a superscription of its modest value, which
was precisely one farthing. On another occasion, when
we were making our long stay at Luxor, a colored glass
button of honest Birmingham make was brought to the
boat by a fellah who swore that he had himself found it
upon a mummy in the tombs of the queens at Kurnet Mur-
raee. The same man came to my tent one day when I was
sketching, bringing with him a string of more that doubt-
ful scarabs — all veritable "anteekahs," of course, and all
backed up with undeniable pedigrees.

" La, la [no, no] ! bring me no more anteekahs," I said,
gravely. " They are old and worn out, and cost much

THEBES TO ASSUAN. 149

money. Have you no imitation scarabs, new and service-
able, that one might wear without the fear of breaking
them?"

"These are imitations. 0 sitt!" was the ready answer.

" But you told me a moment ago they were genuine
anteekahs."

" That was because I thought the sitt wanted to buy
anteekahs," he said, quite shamelessly.

"See now," I said, "if you are capable of selling me
new things for old, how can I be sure that you would not
sell me old things for new?"

To this he replied by declaring that he had made the
scarabs himself. Then, fearing I should not believe him,
he pulled a scrap of coarse paper from his bosom, borrowed
one of my pencils, and drew an asp, an ibis, and some
other common hieroglyphic forms, with tolerable dexterity.

"Now you believe?" he asked, triumphantly.

"I see that you can make birds and snakes," I replied;
" but that neither proves that you can cut scarabs, nor
that these scarabs are new."

" Nay, sitt," he protested, " I made them with these
hands. I made them but the other day. By Allah! they
cannot be newer."

Here Talhamy interposed.

" In that case," he said, " they are too new, and will
crack before a month is over. The sitt would do better
to buy some that are well seasoned."

Our honest fellah touched his brow and breast.

"Now in strict truth, 0 dragoman!" he said, with an
air of the most engaging candor, "these scarabs were
made at the time of the inundation. They are new; but
not too new. They are thoroughly seasoned. If they
crack, you shall denounce me to the governor, and I will
eat stick for them!"

Now it has always seemed to me that the most curious
feature in this little scene was the extraordinary simplicity
of the Arab. With all his cunning, with all his dis-
position to cheat, he suffered himself to be turned inside-
out as unsuspiciously as a baby. It never occurred to him
that his untruthfulness was being put to the test, or that
he was committing himself more and more deeply with
every word he uttered. The fact is, however, that the
fellah is half a savage. Notwithstanding his mendacity

150 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

(unci it must be owned that lie is the most brilliant liar
under heaven), he remains a singularly transparent piece
of humanity , easily amused, easily deceived, easily angered,
easily pacified. He steals a little, cheats a little, lies a
great deal; but on the other hand he is patient, hospitable,
affectionate, trustful. He suspects no malice and bears
none. He commits no great crimes. He is incapable of
oevenge. In short, his good points outnumber his bad
cnes; and what man or nation need hope for a much better
rharacter?

To generalize in this way may seem like presumption on
the part of a passing strauger; yet it is more excusable as
regards Egypt than it would be of any other equally
accessible country. In Europe, and indeed in most parts of
the east, one sees too little of the people to be able to form
an opinion about them; but it is not so on the Nile. Cut
off from hotels, from railways, from Europeanized cities,
you are brought into continual intercourse with natives.
The sick who come to you for medicines, the country
gentlemen and government officials who visit you on board
your boat and entertain you on shore, your guides, your
donkey boys, the very dealers who live by cheating you,
furnish endless studies of character, and teach you more
of Egyptian life than all the books of Nile-travel that were
ever written.

Then your crew, part Arab, part Nubian, are a little
world in themselves. One man was born a slave, and will
carry the dealer's brand-marks to his grave. Another
has two children in Miss Whateley's school at
Cairo. A third is just married, and has left his young
wife sick at home. She may be dead by the time he gets
back, and we will hear no news of her meanwhile. So
with them all. Each has his simple story — a story in
which the local oppressor, the dreaded conscription, and
the still more dreaded corvee, form the leading incidents.
The poor fellows are ready enough to pour out their hopes,
their wrongs, their sorrows. Through sympathy with
these, one comes to know the men; and through the men,
the nation. For the life of the beled repeats itself with
but little variation wherever the Nile flows and the khe-
dive rules. The characters are the same; the incidents are
the same. It is only the mise en scene which varies.

And thus it comes to pass that the mere traveler who

THEBES TO ASS U AN. 151

spends but half a year on the Nile may, if he takes an in-
terest in Egypt and the Egyptians, learn more of both in
that short time than would be possible in a country less
singularly narrowed in all ways — politically, socially, geo-
graphically.

And this reminds me that the traveler on the Nile
really sees the whole land of Egypt. Going from point to
point in other countries, one follows a thin line of road,
railway, or river, leaving wide tracts unexplored on either
side: but there are few places in Middle or Upper Egypt,
and none at all in Nubia, where one may not, from any
moderate height, survey the entire face of the country
from desert to desert. It is well to do this frequently. It
helps one, as nothing else can help one, to an understand-
ing of the wonderful mountain waste through which the
Nile has been scooping its way for uncounted cycles. And
it enables one to realize what a mere slip of alluvial de-
posit is this famous land which is " the gift of the river."

A dull gray morning; a faint and fitful breeze carried us
slowly on our way from Esneh to Edfu. The new bread
— a heavy boat-load when brought on board — lay in a huge
heap at the end of the upper deck. It took four men one
whole day to cut it up. Their incessant gabble drove us
nearlv distracted.

"Uskut, Khaleefeh ! Uskut, Ali !" ("Silence, Khalee-
feh! Silence, Ali!") Talhamy would say from time to time.
" You are not on your own deck. The Howadji can
neither read nor write for the clatter of your tongues."

And then, for about a minute and a half, they would be
quiet.

But you could as easily keep a monkey from chattering
as an Arab. Our men talked incessantly; and their talk
was always about money. Listen to them when we might,
such words as "khamsa guriish " (five piasters), " nus
riyal" (half-a-dollar), "ethneen shilling" (two shillings),
were perpetually coming to the surface. We never could
understand how it was that money, which played so small a
part in their lives, should play so large a part in their
conversation.

It was about midday when we passed El Kab, the ancient
Eileithyias. A rocky valley narrowing in hind; a sheik's
tomb on the mountain-ridge above; a few clumps of date-
palms ; some remains 6f what looked like a long, crude

152 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

brick wall running at right angles to the river; and an
isolated mass of hollowed limestone rock left standing ap-
parently in the midst of an exhausted quarry, were all we
saw of El Kab as the dahabeeyah glided by.

And now, as the languid afternoon wears on, the propy-
lons of Edfu loom out of the misty distance. AVe have
been looking for them long enough before they come into
sight — calculating every mile of the way; every minute of
the daylight. The breeze, such as it was, has dropped
now. The river stretches away before us, smooth and oily
as a pond. Nine of the men are tracking. Will they pull
us to Edfu in time to see the temple before nightfall ?

Eei's Hassan looks doubtful; but takes refuge as usual
in "Inshallah !" ("God willing"). Talhamy talks of land-
ing a sailor to run forward and order donkeys. Mean-
while the Philas creeps lazily on; the sun declines unseen
behind a filmy veil; and those two shadowy towers, rising
higher and ever higher on the horizon, look gray, and
ghostly, and far distant still.

Suddenly the trackers stop, look back, shout to those on
board, and begin drawing the boat to shore. Rei's Hassan
points joyously to a white streak breaking across the
smooth surface of the river about half a mile behind. The
Fostat's sailors are already swarming aloft — the Bagstones'
trackers are making for home — our own men are prepar-
ing to fling in the rope and jump on board as the Philae
nears the bank.

For the capricious wind, that always springs up when we
don't want it, is coming!

And now the Fostat, being hindmost, flings out her big
sail and catches the first puff; the Bagstones' turn comes
next; the Philse shakes her wings free and shoots ahead;
and in fewer minutes than it takes to tell, we are all three
scudding along before a glorious breeze.

The great towers that showed so far away half an hour
ago are now close at hand. There are palm-woods about
their feet, and clustered huts, from the midst of which
they tower up against the murky sky magnificently. Soon
they are passed and left behind, and the gray twilight
takes them and we see them no more. Then night comes
on, cold and starless; yet not too dark for going as fast as
wind and canvas will carry us.

And now, with that irrepressible instinct of rivalry that

THEBES TO ASSUAN. 153

fles}i — especially flesh on the Nile — is heir to, we quickly
turn our good going into a trial of speed. It is no longer
a mere business-like devotion to the matter in hand. It is
a contest for glory. It is the Philae against the Fostat, and
the Bagstones against both. In plain English, it is a race.
The two leading dahabeeyahs are pretty equally matched.
The Philae is larger than the Fostat; but the Fostat has a
bigger mainsail. On the other hand, the Fostat is an iron
boat; whereas the Philae, being wooden-built, is easier to
pole off a sand-bank, and lighter in hand. The Bagstones
carries a capital mainsail and can go as fast as either upon
occasion. Meanwhile, the race is one of perpetually vary-
ing fortunes. Now the Fostat shoots ahead; now the
Philas. We pass and repass ; take the wind out of one
another's sails; economize every curve; hoist every stitch
of canvas, and, having identified ourselves with our boats,
are as eager to win as if a great prize depended on it.
Under these circumstances, to dine is difficult — to go to
bed superfluous — to sleep impossible. As to mooring for
the night, it is not to be thought of for a moment.
Having begun the contest, we can no more help going
than the wind can help blowing; and our crew are as keen
about winning as ourselves.

As night advances, the wind continues to rise, and our
excitement with it. Still the boats chase each other along
the dark river, scattering spray from their bows and
flinging out broad foam-tracks behind them. Their cabin
windows, all alight within, cast flickering flames upon the
waves below. The colored lanterns at their mast-heads,
orange, purple and crimson, burn through the dusk-like
jewels. Presently the mist blows off; the sky clears; the
stars come out; the wind howls; the casements rattle; the
tiller scroops; the sailors shout, and race, and bang the
ropes about overhead; while we, sitting up in our narrow
berths, spend half the night watching from our respective
windows.

In this way some hours go by. Then, about three in the
morning, with a shock, a recoil, a yell and a scuffle, we all
three rush headlong upon a sand-bank! The men fly to
the rigging and furl the flapping sail. Some seize punting
poles. Others, looking like full-grown imps of darkness,
leap overboard and set their shoulders to the work. A
strophe and antistrophe of grunts are kept up between

154 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

those on deck and those in the water. Finally, after some
ten minutes' frantic struggle, the Phila3 slips off, leaving
the other two aground in the middle of the river.

Toward morning, the noisy night having worn itself
away, we all fall asleep — only to be roused again by Tal-
hamy's voice at seven, proclaiming aloud that the Bag-
stones and Fostat are once more close upon our heels;
that Silsilis and Kom Oinbo are passed and left behind;
that we have already put forty-six miles between ourselves
and Edfii; and that the good wind is still blowing.

We are now within fifteen miles of Assuan. The Nile is
narrow here, and the character of the scenery has quite
changed. Our view is bounded on the Arabian side by a
near range of black granitic mountains; while on the
Libyan side lies a chain of lofty sand-hills, each curiously
cupped by a crown of dark bowlders. On both banks the
river is thickly fringed with palms.

Meanwhile the race goes on. Last night it was sport;
to-day it is earnest. Last night we raced for glory; to-day
we race for a stake.

" A guinee for Reis Hassan if we get first to Assuan!"

Reis Hassan's eyes glisten. No need to call up the
dragoman to interpret between us. The look, the tone,
are as intelligible to him as the choicest Arabic; and the
magical word " guinee" stands for a sovereign now, as it
stood for one-pound-one in the days of Nelson and Aber-
crombie. He touches his head and breast ; casts a back-
ward glance at the pursuing dahabeeyahs, a forward
glance in the direction of Assuan ; kicks off his shoes; ties
a handkerchief about his waist; and stations himself at the
top of the steps leading to the upper deck. By the light
in his eye and the set look about his mouth, Reis Hassan
means winning.

Now to be first in Assuan means to be first on the gov-
ernor's list and first up the cataract. And as the passage
of the cataract is some two or three days' work this little
question of priority is by no means unimportant. Not for
five times the promised " guinee" would we have the Fos-
tat slip in first, and so be kept waiting our turn on the
wrong side of the frontier.

Aiid now, as the sun rises higher, so the race waxes
hotter. At breakfast time we were fifteen miles from
Assuan. Now the fifteen miles have gone down to ten;

THEBES TO ASSUAN. 155

and when we reach yonder headland they will have
dwindled to seven. It is plain to see, however, that as the
distance decreases between ourselves and Assuan, so also it
decreases between ourselves and the Fostat. Keis Hassan
knows it. I see him measuring the space by his eye. I
see the frown settling on his brow. He is calculating how
much the Fostat gains in every quarter of an hour, and
how many quarters we are yet distant from the goal. For
no Arab sailor counts by miles. He counts by time and
by the reaches in the river; and these may be taken at a
rough average of three miles each. When, therefore, our
captain, in reply to an oft-repeated question, says we have
yet two bends to make, we know that we are about six
miles from our destination.

Six miles — and the Fostat creeping closer every minute!
Just now we were all talking eagerly; but as the end draws
near, even the sailors are silent. Kei's Hassan stands
motionless at his post, on the lookout for shallows. The
words "Shamal — Yemin " ("left — right"), delivered in a
short, sharp tone, are the only sounds he utters. The
steersman, all eye and ear, obeys him like his hand. The
sailors squat in their places, quiet and alert as cats.

And now it is no longer six miles, but five — no longer
five, but four. The Fostat, thanks to her bigger sail, has
well-nigh overtaken us; and the Bagstones is not more than
a hundred yards behind the Fostat. On we go, however,
past palm-woods of nobler growth than any we have yet
seen ; past forlorn homeward-bound dahabeeyahs lying-to
against the wind ; past native boats, and riverside huts,
and clouds of driving sand ; till the corner is turned, and
the last reach gained, and the minarets of Assuan are seen
as through a shifting fog in the distance. The ruined
tower crowning yonder promontory stands over against the
town ; and those black specks midway in the bed of the
river are the first outlying rocks of the cataract. The
channel there is hemmed in between reefs and sand-banks,
and to steer it is difficult in even the calmest weather.
Still our canvas strains to the wind, and the Philse rushes
on full-tilt, like a racer at the hurdles.

Every eye now is turned upon Rei's Hassan; and Eei's
Hassan stands rigid, like a man of stone. The rocks are
close ahead — so close that we can see the breakers pouring
over them and the swirling eddies between. Our way

156 A THOUSAND MILKS UP THE NILE.

lies through an opening between the bowlders. Beyond
that opening the channel turns off sharply to the left. It
is a point at which everything will depend on the shifting
of a sail. If done too soon, we miss the mark; if too late,
we strike upon the rocks.

Suddenly our captain flings up his hand, takes the
stairs at a bound, and flies to the prow. The sailors
spring to their feet, gathering some round the shoghool,
and some round the end of the yard. The Fostat is up
beside us. The moment for winning or losing is come.

And now, for a couple of breathless seconds, the two
dahabeeyahs plunge onward side by side, making for that
narrow passage which is only wide enough for one. Then
the iron boat, shaving the sand-bank to get a wider berth,
shifts her sail first, and shifts it clumsily, breaking or let-
ting go her shoghool. We see the sail flap and the rope
fly, and all hands rushing to retrieve it.

In that moment Re'is Hassan gives the word. The
Philae bounds forward — takes the channel from under the
very bows of the Fostat — changes her sail without a hitch —
and dips right away down the deep water, leaving her rival
hard and fast among the shallows.

The rest of the way is short and open. In less than five
minutes we have taken in our sail, paid Rei's Hassan his
well-earned guinee, and found a snug corner to moor in.
And so ends our memorable race of nearly sixty-eight
miles from Edfu to Assuan.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. \tf

CHAPTER X.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE.

The green Island of Elephantine, which is about a mile
in length, lies opposite Assuan and divides the Nile in two
channels. The Libyan and Arabian deserts — smooth
amber sand-slopes on the one hand; rugged granite cliffs
on the other — come down to the brink on either side. On
the Libyan shore a sheik's tomb, on the Arabian shore a
bold fragment of Moorish architecture with ruined arches
open to the sky, crown two opposing heights, and keep
watch over the gate of the cataract. Just under the
Moorish ruin, and separated from the river by a slip of
sandy beach, lies Assuan.

A few scattered houses, a line of blank wall, the top of
a minaret, the dark mouths of one or two gloomy alleys,
are all that one sees of the town from the mooriug-place
below. The black bowlders close against the shore, some
of which are superbly hieroglyphed, glisten in the sun like
polished jet.* The beach is crowded with bales of goods;
with camels laden and unladen; with turbaned figures
coming and going; with damaged cargo-boats lying up
high and dry, and half heeled over, in the sun. Others,
moored close together, are taking in or discharging cargo.
A little apart from these lie some three or four dahabee-
yahs flying English, American, and Belgian flags. Another
has cast anchor over the way at Elephantine. Small row-
boats cross and recross, meanwhile, from shore to shore;

* " At the cataracts of the great rivers Orinoco, Nile and Congo,
the syenitic rocks are coated by a black substance, appearing as if
they had been polished with plumbago. The layer is of extreme
thinness; and on analysis by Berzelius it was found to consist of the
oxides of manganese and iron. . . . The origin, however, of these
coatings of metallic oxides, which seem as if cemented to the rocks,
is not understood; and no reason, I believe, can be assigned for their
thickness remaining the same." — "Journal of Researches," by
Charles Darwin, chap, i, p. 12, ed. 1845.

158 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

dogs bark ; camels snort and snarl ; donkeys bray; and
clamorous curiosity dealers scream, chatter, hold their
goods at arm's length, battle and implore to come on board,
and are only kept off the landing-plank by means of two
big sticks in the hands of two stalwart sailors.

The things offered for sale at Assuan are altogether new
and strange. Here are no scarabaei, no funerary statuettes,
no bronze or porcelain gods, no relics of a past civilization;
but, on the contrary, such objects as speak only of a rude
and barbarous present — ostrich eggs and feathers, silver
trinkets of rough Nubian workmanship, spears, bows, ar-
rows, bucklers of rhinoceros hide, ivory bracelets, cut
solid from the tusk, porcupine quills, baskets of stained
and plaited reeds, gold nose rings and the like. One old
woman has a Nubian lady's dressing-case for sale — an un-
couth, fetich-like object with a cushion for its body, and a
top-knot of black feathers. The cushion contains two kohl-
bottles, a bodkin and a bone comb.

But the noisest dealer of the lot is an impish boy blessed
with the blackest skin and the shrillest voice ever brought
together in one human being. His simple costume con-
sists of a tattered shirt and a white cotton skull-cap; his
stock in trade of a greasy leather fringe tied to the end of
a stick. Flying from window to window of the saloon on
the side next the shore, scrambling up the bows of a neigh-
boring cargo-boat so as to attack us in the rear, thrust-
ing his stick and fringe in our faces whichever way we turn,
and pursuing us with eager cries of "Madame Nubia!
Madame Nubia!" he skips and screams and grins like an
ubiquitous goblin, and throws every competitor into the
shade.

Having seen a similar fringe in the collection of a friend
at home, I at once recognized in " Madame Nubia" one of
those curious girdles, which, with the addition of a necklace
and a few bracelets, form the entire wardrobe of little girls
south of the cataract. They vary in size according to the
age of the wearer; the largest being about twelve inches in
depth and twenty-five in length. A few are ornamented with
beads and small shells; but these aveparures de luxe. The or-
dinary article is cheaply and unpretentiously trimmed with
castor-oil. That is to say, the girdle when new is well
soaked in the oil, which softens and darkens the leather,
besides adding a perfume dear to native nostrils.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 159

For to the Nubian, who grows his own plants and bruises
his own berries, this odor is delicious. He reckons castor-
oil among his greatest luxuries. He eats it as we eat
butter. His wives saturate their plaited locks in it. His
little girls perfume their fringes with it. His boys anoint
their bodies with it. His home, his breath, his garments,
his food are redolent of it. It pervades the very air in
which he lives and has his being. Happy the European
traveler who, while his lines are cast in Nubia, can train
his degenerate nose to delight in the aroma of castor-oil!

The march of civilization is driving these fringes out of
fashion on the frontier. At Assuan they are chiefly in de-
mand among English and American visitors. Most people
purchase a " Madame Nubia" for the entertainment of

friends at home. L , who is given to vanities in the

way of dress, bought one so steeped in fragrance that it
scented the Phila? for the rest of the voyage and retains its
odor to this day.

Almost before the mooring-rope was made fast our
painter, arrayed in a gorgeous keffiyeh* and armed with
the indispensible visiting-cane, had sprung ashore and
hastened to call upon the governor, A couple of hours
later the governor (having promised to send at once for
the sheik of the cataract and to forward our going by all
means in his power) returned the visit. He brought with
him the mudirf and kadij of Assuan, each attended by his
pipe-bearer.

We received our guests with due ceremony in the saloon.
The great men placed themselves on one of the side-divans,
and the painter opened the conversation by offering them
champagne, chiret, port, sherry, curacoa, brandy, whisky
and Angostura bitters. Talhamy interpreted.

The governor laughed. He was a tall young man, grace-
ful, lively, good-looking and black as a crow. The kadi
and mudir both elderly Arabs, yellow, wrinkled and pre-
cise, looked shocked at the mere mention of these unholy
liquors. Somebody then proposed lemonade.

The governor turned briskly toward the speaker.

* Keffiyeh : A square head-shawl, made of silk or wollen. Euro-
pean travelers wear them as puggarees,
f Mudir : Chief magistrate.
X Kadi : Judge.

160 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

"Gazzoso ?" he said, interrogatively.

To which Talhamy replied: " Ai'wah [yes,] Gazzoso."

Aerated lemonade and cigars were then brought. The
governor watched the process of uncorking with a face of
profound interest and drank with the undisguised greedi-
ness of a school-boy. Even the kadi and mudir relaxed
somewhat of the gravity of their demeanor. To men
whose habitual drink consists of lime-water and sugar,
bottled lemonade represents chamjoagne mousseux of the
choicest brand.

Then began the usual attemps at conversation; and only
those who have tried small talk by proxy know how hard
it is to supply topics, suppress yawns and keep up an
animated expression of countenance, while the civilities on
both sides are being interpreted by a dragoman.

We began, of course, with the temperature ; for in
Egypt, where it never rains and the sun is always shining,
the thermometer takes the place of the weather as a useful
platitude. Knowing that Assuan enjoys the hottest repu-
tation of any town on the surface of the globe, we were
agreeably surprised to find it no warmer than England in
September. The governor accounted for this by saying
that he had never known so cold a winter. We then asked
the usual questions about the crops, the height of the river,
and so forth; to all of which he replied with the ease and
bonhomie of a man of the world. Nubia, he said, was
healthy — the date-harvest had been abundant — the corn
promised well — the Soudan was quiet and prosperous.
Referring to the new postal arrangements, he congratulated
us on being able to receive and post letters at the second
cataract. He also remarked that the telegraphic wires
were now in working order as far as Khartum. We then
asked how soon he expected the railway to reach Assuan;
to which he replied: " In two years, at latest."

At length our little stock of topics came to an end and
the entertainment flagged.

" What shall I say next ?" asked the dragoman.

" Tell him we particularly wish to see the slave market."

The smile vanished from the governor's face. The
mudir set down a glass of fizzing lemonade, untasted.
The kadi all but dropped his cigar. If a shell had burst
in the saloon their consternation could scarcely have been
greater.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 161

The governor, looking very grave, was the first to speak.

" He says there is no slave trade in Egypt and no slave
market in Assiian," interrupted Talhamy.

Now, we had been told in Cairo, on excellent authority,
that slaves were still bought and sold here, though less
publicly than of old; and that of all the sights a traveler
might see in Egypt, this was the most curious and
pathetic.

" No slave market !" we repeated, incredulously.

The governor, the kadi and the mudir shook their heads,
and lifted up their voices, and said all together, like a trio
of mandarins in a comic opera:

" La, la, la ! Mafeesh bazaar — mafeesh bazaar !" ("No,
no, no! No bazaar — no bazaar !")

We endeavored to explain that in making this inquiry
we desired neither the gratification of an idle curiosity,
nor the furtherance of any political views. Our only
object was sketching. Understanding, therefore, that a
private bazaar still existed in Assiian

This was too much for the judical susceptibilities of the
kadi. He would not let Talhamy finish.

'•' There is nothing of the kind," he interrupted, pucker-
ing his face into an expression of such virtuous horror as
might become a reformed New Zealander on the subject of
cannibalism. "It is unlawful — unlawful."

An awkward silence followed. We felt we had com-
mitted an enormous blunder, and were disconcerted
accordingly.

The governor saw, and with the best grace in the world
took pity upon, our embarrassment. He rose, opened the
piano, and asked for some music; whereupon the little
lady played the liveliest thing she could remember; which
happened to be a waltz by Verdi.

The governor, meanwhile, sat beside the piano, smiling
and attentive. With all his politeness, however, he seemed
to be looking for something — to be not altogether satisfied.
There was even a shade of disappointment in the tone of
his "Ketther-khayrik ketir," when the waltz finally ex-
ploded in a shower of arpeggios. What could it be? Was
it that he wished for a song? Or would a pathetic air have
pleased him better?

Not a bit of it. He was looking for what his quick eye
presently detected — namely, some printed music, which he

162 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

seized triumphantly and placed before the player. What
he wanted was " music played from a book."

Being asked whether he preferred a lively or a plaintive
melody, he replied that " he did not care, so long as it was
difficult."

Now it chanced that he had pitched upon a volume of
Wagner; so the little lady took him at his word and gave
him a dose of " Tannhaiiser." Strange to say, he was de-
lighted. He showed his teeth ; he rolled his eyes ; he
uttered the long-drawn "Ah!'' which in Egypt signifies
applause. The more crabbed, the more far-fetched, the
more unintelligible the movement, the better, apparently,
he liked it.

I never think of Assuan but I remember that curious
scene — our little lady at the piano; the black governor
grinning in ecstasies close by ; the kadi in his magnificent
shawl-turban ; the mudir half asleep ; the air thick with
tobacco-smoke; and above all — dominant, tyrannous, over-
powering— the crash and clang, the involved harmonies,
and the multitudinous combinations of Tannhaiiser.

The linked sweetness of an oriental visit is generally
drawn out to a length that sorely tries the patience and
politeness of European hosts. A native gentleman, if he
has any business to attend to, gets through his work before
noon, and has nothing to do but smoke, chat, and doze
away the remainder of the day. For time, which hangs
heavily on his hands, he has absolutely no value. His
main object in life is to consume it, if possible, less tedi-
ously. He pays a visit, therefore, with the deliberate
intention of staying as long as possible. Our guests on the
present occasion remained the best part of two hours ; and
the governor, who talked of going to England shortly,
asked for all our names and addresses, that he might come
and see us at home.

Leaving the cabin, he paused to look at our roses, which
stood near the door. We told him they had been given to
us by the Bey of Erment.

" Do they grow at Erment?" he asked, examining them
with great curiosity. "How beautiful! Why will they
not grow in Nubia?"

We suggested that the climate was probably too hot for
them.

He stooped, inhaling their perfume. He looked puzzled.

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 1G3

" They are very sweet," lie said. " Are they roses?"

The question gave us a kind of shock. We could hardly
believe we had reached a land where roses were unknown.
Yet the governor, who had smoked a rose-water narghile
and drunk rose-sherbet and eaten conserve of roses all his
days, recognized them by their perfume only. He had
never been out of Assuan in his life; not even as far as
Erment. And he had never seen a rose in bloom.

We had hoped to begin the passage of the cataract on
the morning of the day following our arrival at the frontier;
but some other dahabeeyah, it seemed, was in the act of
fighting its way up to Philas ; and till that boat was
through, neither the sheik nor his men would be ready
for us. At eight o'clock in the morning of the next day
but one, however, they promised to take us in hand. We
were to pay £12 English for the double journey; that is to
say, £9 down ; and the remaining £3 on our return to
Assuan.

Such was the treaty concluded between ourselves and
the sheik of the cataract at a solemn conclave over which
the governor, assisted by the kadi and mudir, presided.

Having a clear day to spend at Assuan, we of course
gave part thereof to Elephantine, which in the inscrip-
tions is called Abu, or the Ivory Island. There may per-
haps have been a depot, or " treasure-city," here for the
precious things of the Upper Nile country ; the gold of
Nubia and the elephant-tusks of Kush.

It is a very beautiful island — rugged and lofty to the
south • low and fertile to the north ; with an exquisitely
varied coast-line full of wooded creeks and miniature
beaches in which one might expect at any moment to meet
Eobinson Crusoe with his goat-skin umbrella, or man
Friday bending under a load of faggots. They are all
Fridays here, however ; for Elephantine, being the first
Nubian outpost, is peopled by Nubians only. It contains
two Nubian villages, and the mounds of a very ancient
city which was the capital of all Egypt under the Pharaohs
of the sixth dynasty, between three and four thousand years
before Christ. Two temples, one of which dated from the
reign of Ainenhotep III, were yet standing here some
seventy years ago. They were seen by Belzoni in 1815,
and had just been destroyed to build a palace and barracks
when Champollion went up in 18'-39. A ruined gateway of

164 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE.

the Ptolemaic period and a forlorn-looking sitting statue of
Menephtah, the supposed Pharaoh of the exodus, alone
remain to identify the sites on which they stood.

Thick palm-groves and carefully tilled patches of castor-
oil and cotton plants, lentils, and durra, make green the
heart of the island. The western shore is wooded to the
water's edge. One may walk here in the shade at hottest
noon, listening to the murmur of the cataract and seeking
for wild flowers — which, however, would seem to hlossom
nowhere save in the sweet Arabic name of Geziret-el-Zahr,
the island of flowers.

Upon the high ground at the southern extremity of the
island, among rubbish heaps, and bleached bones, and
human skulls, and the sloughed skins of snakes, and piles
of party-colored potsherds, we picked up several bits of in-
scribed terra-cotta — evidently fragments of broken vases.
The writing was very faint, and in part obliterated. We
could see that the characters were Greek; but not even our
idle man was equal to making out a word of the sense.
Believing them to be mere disconnected scraps to which it
would be impossible to find the corresponding pieces —
taking it for granted, also, that they were of comparatively
modern date — we brought away some three or four as
souvenirs of the place, and thought no more about them.

We little dreamed that Dr. Birch, in his cheerless official
room at the British Museum so many thousand miles away,
was at this very time occupied in deciphering a collection
of similar fragments, nearly all of which had been brought
from this same spot.* Of the curious interest attaching to

* The results of Dr. Birch's labors were given to the public in
his " Guide to tbe First and Second Egyptian Rooms," published by
order of the trustees of tbe British Museum in May, 1874. Of the
contents of case ninety-nine in the "second room," he says: "The
use of potsherds for documents received a great extension at the
time of the Roman empire, when receipts for the taxes were given
on these fragments by the collectors of revenue at Elephantine or
Syene, on the frontier of Egypt. These receipts commenced in the
reign of Vespasian, A. D. 77, and are found as late as M. Aureliusand
L. Verus, A. d. 165. It appears from them that the capitation and
trades tax, which was sixteen drams in A. D. 77, rose to twenty in
A. D. 165, having steadily increased. The dues were paid in install-
ments called merismoi, at three periods of the year. The taxes were
farmed out to publicans {mixthotai), who appear from their names to
have been Greeks. At Elephantine the taxes were received by tax-
gatherers {prakteres), who seem to have been appointed as early as

AS8UAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 165

these illegible scrawls, of the importance they were shortly
to acquire in the eyes of the learned, of the possible value
of any chance additions to their number we knew, and
could know, nothing. Six months later we lamented our
ignorance and our lost opportunities.

For the Egyptians, it seems, used potsherds instead of
papyrus for short memoranda; and each of these fragments
which we had picked up contained a record complete in
itself. I fear we should have laughed if any one had sug-
gested that they might be tax-gatherers' receipts. Yet
that is just what they were — receipts for government dues
collected on the frontier during the period of Roman rule
in Egypt. They were written in Greek, because the
Romans deputed Greek scribes to perform the duties of
this unpopular office; but the Greek is so corrupt and the
penmanship so clownish that only a few eminent scholars
can read them.

Not all the inscribed fragments found at Elephantine,
however, are tax-receipts, or written in bad Greek. The
British Museum contains several in the demotic, or current,
script of the people, and a few in the more learned hieratic,
or priestly, hand. The former have not yet been translated.
They are probably business memoranda and short private
letters of Egyptians of the same period.

But how came these fragile documents to be preserved,
when the city in which their writers lived, and the temples
in which they worshiped, have disappeared and left scarce

the Ptolemies. Their clerks were Egyptians, and they had a chest
and treasure (phylax)." See p. 109, as above; also Birch's "History
of Ancient Pottery," chap. 1, p. 45.

These barren memoranda are not the only literary curiosities found
at Elephantine. Among the Egyptian manuscripts of the Louvre may
be seen some fragments of the eighteenth book of the " Iliad," dis-
covered in a tomb upon the island. How they came to be buried
there no one knows. A lover of poetry would like to think, how-
ever, that some Greek or Roman officer, dying at his post upon this
distant station, desired, perhaps, to have his Homer laid with him in
his grave.

Note to Second Edition. — Other fragments of ' ' Iliad " have
been found from time to time in various parts of Egypt; some (now
in the Louvre) being scrawled, like the above-mentioned tax-receipts,
on mere potsherds. The finest specimen ever found in Egypt or
elsewhere, and the earliest, has, however, been discovered this year,
1888, by Mr. Flinders Petrie in the grave of a woman at Hawara, in
the Fayum,

166 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

a trace behind ? Who cast them down among the pot-
sherds on this barren hillside? Are we to suppose that
some kind of public record office once occupied the site,
and that the receipts here stored were duplicates of those
given to the payers? Or is it not even more probable that
this place was the Monte Testaccio of the ancient city, to
which all broken pottery, written as well as unwritten,
found its way sooner or later?

With the exception of a fine fragment of Eoman quay
nearly opposite Assuan, the ruined gateway of Alexander
and the battered statue of Menephtah are the only objects
of archaeological interest in the island. But the charm of
Elephantine is the everlasting charm of natural beauty —
of rocks, of ]3alm-woods, of quiet waters.

The streets of Assuan are just like the streets of every
other mud town on the Xile. The bazaars reproduce
the bazaars of Minieh and Siut. The environs are
noisy with cafes and dancing-girls, like the environs of
Esneh and Luxor. Into the mosque, where some kind
of service was going on, we peeped without entering. It
looked cool, and clean, and spacious; the floor being
covered with fine matting, and some scores of ostrich-
eggs depending from the ceiling. In the bazaars we
bought baskets and mats of Nubian manufacture, woven
with the same reeds, dyed with the same colors, shaped after
the same models, as those found in the tombs at Thebes. A
certain oval basket with a vaulted cover, of which specimens
are preserved in the British Museum, seems still to be the
pattern most in demand at Assuan. The basket-makers
have neither changed their fashion nor the buyers their
taste since the days of Rameses the Great.

Here also, at a little cupboard of a shop near the shoe
bazaar, we were tempted to speud a few pounds in ostrich
feathers, which are conveyed to Assuan by traders from
the Soudan. The merchant brought out a feather at a
time, and seemed in uo haste to sell. We also affected
indifference. The haggling on both sides was tremendous.
The by-standers, as usual, were profoundly interested, and
commented on every word that passed. At last we carried
away an armful of splendid plumes, most of which
measured from two and a half to three feet in length.
Some were pure white, others white tipped with brown.
They had been neither cleaned nor curled, but were just as
they came from the hands of the ostrich-hunters,

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 167

By far the most amusing sight in Assuan was the traders'
camp down near the landing-place. Here were Abyssinians
like slender-legged baboons; wild-looking Bishariyah and
Ababdeh Arabs with flashing eyes and flowing hair; sturdy
Nubians the color of a Barbedienne bronze ; and natives
of all tribes and shades, from Kordofan and Sennar, the
deserts of the Bahuda and the banks of the Blue and White
Niles. Some were running from Cairo; others were on
their way thither. Some, having disembarked their mer-
chandise at Mahatta (a village on the other side of the
cataract), had come across the desert to re-embark it at
Assuan. Others had just disembarked theirs at Assuan,
in order to re-embark it at Mahatta. Meanwhile, they
were living sub jove; each intrenched in his own little re-
doubt of piled-up bales and packing-cases, like a spider in
the center of his web; each provided with a kettle and
coffee-pot, and an old rug to sleep and pray upon. One
sulky old Turk had fixed up a roof of matting, and fur-
nished his den with a leaf as, or palm-wood couch; but he
was a self-indulgent exception to the rule.

Some smiled, some scowled, when we passed through
the camp. One offered us coffee. Another, more obliging
than the rest, displayed the contents of his packages. Great
bundles of lion and leopard skins, bales of cotton, sacks
of henna-leaves, elephant-tusks swathed in canvas and
matting, strewed the sandy bank. Of gum-arabic alone there
must have been several hundred bales; each bale sewed
up in a raw hide and tied with thongs of hippopotamus
leather. Toward dusk, when the camp-fires were alight
and the evening meal was in course of preparation, the
scene became wonderfully picturesque. Lights gleamed;
shadows deepened; strange figures stalked to and fro, or
squatted in groups amid their merchandise. Some were
baking flat cakes; others stirring soup, or roasting coffee.
A hole scooped in the sand, a couple of stones to support
the kettle, and a handful of dry sticks, served for kitchen
range and fuel. Meanwhile all the dogs in Assuan prowled
round the camp, and a jargon of barbaric tongues came
and went with the breeze that followed the sunset.

I must not forget to add that among this motley crowd
we saw two brothers, natives of Khartum. We met them
first in the town, and afterward in the camp. They wore
voluminous white turbans and flowing robes of some kind

168 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

of creamy cashmere cloth. Their small proud heads and
delicate aristocratic features were modeled on the purest
Florentine type; their eyes were long and liquid; their
complexions, free from any taint of Abyssinian blue or
Nubian bronze, were intensely, lustrously, magnificently
black. We agreed that we had never seen two such hand-
some men. They were like young and beautiful Dantee
carved in ebony; Dantes unembittered by the world,
unsicklied by the pale cast of thought, and glowing with
the life of the warm south.

Having explored Elephantine and ransacked the bazaars,
our party dispersed in various directions. Some gave the
remainder of the day to letter-writing. The painter, bent
on sketching, started off in search of a jackal-haunted
ruin up a wild ravine on the Libyan side of the river.
The writer and the idle man boldly mounted camels and
rode out into the Arabian desert.

Now the camel-riding that is done at Assuan is of the
most commonplace description, and bears to genuine desert
traveling about the same relation that half an hour on the
Mer de Glace bears to the passage of the Mortaretsch
glacier or the ascent of Monte Rosa. The short cut from
Assuan to Philae, or at least the ride to the granite quarries,
forms part of every dragoman's programme, and figures as
the crowning achievement of every Cook's tourist. The
Arabs themselves perform these little journeys much more
pleasantly and expeditiously on donkeys. They take good
care, in fact, never to scale the summit of a camel if they
can help it. But for the impressionable traveler, the
Assuan camel is de rigueur. In his interests are those
snarling quadrupeds, betasseled and berugged, taken
from their regular work, and paraded up and down the
landing-place. To transport cargoes disembarked above
and below the cataract is their vocation. Taken from this
honest calling to perform in an absurd little drama got up
especially for the entertainment of tourists, it is no wonder
if the beasts are more than commonly ill-tempered. They
know the whole proceeding to be essentially cockney, and
they resent it accordingly.

The ride, nevertheless, has its advantages; not the least
being that it enables one to realize the kind of work
involved in any of the regular desert expeditions. At all
events, it entitles one to claim acquaintance with the ship

A8STTAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 100

of the desert, and (bearing in mind the probable inferiority
of the specimen) to form an ex pede judgment of his qual-
ification.

The camel has his virtues — so much at least must be
admitted; but they do not lie upon the surface. My
Buffo n tells me, for instance, that he carries a fresh-water
cistern in his stomach; which is meritorious. But the
cistern ameliorates neither his gait nor his temper — which
are abominable. Irreproachable as a beast of burden, he
is open to many objections as a steed. It is unpleasant, in
the first place, to ride an animal which not only objects to
being ridden, but cherishes a strong personal antipathy to
his rider. Such, however, is his amiable peculiarity.
You know that he hates you, from the moment you first
walk round him, wondering where and how to begin the
ascent of his hump. He does not, in fact, hesitate to tell
you so in the roundest terms. He swears freely while you
are taking your seat; snarls if you but move in the saddle;
and stares you angrily in the face if you attempt to turn
his head in any direction save that which he himself
prefers. Should you persevere, he tries to bite your feet.
If biting your feet does not answer, he lies down.

Now the lying down and getting up of a camel are
performances designed for the express purpose of inflicting
grievous bodily harm upon his rider. Thrown twice for-
ward and twice backward, punched in his "wind "and
damaged in his spine, the luckless novice receives four dis-
tinct shocks, each more violent and unexpected than the last.
For this "execrable hunchback" is fearfully and wonder-
fully made. He has a superfluous joint somewhere in his
legs and uses it to revenge himself upon mankind.

His paces, however, are more complicated than his
joints and more trying than his temper. He has four : a
short walk, like the rolling of a small boat in a chopping
sea; a long walk, which dislocates every bone in your body;
a trot that reduces you to imbecility; and a gallop that is
sudden death. One tries in vain to imagine a crime for
which the peine forte et dare of sixteen hours on camel-
back would not be a full and sufficient expiation. It is a
punishment to which one would not willingly be the means
of condemning any human being — not even a reviewer.

They had been down on the bank for hire all day long —
brown camels and white camels, shaggy camels and smooth

170 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

camels; all with gay worsted tassels on their heads and
rugs flung over their high wooden saddles, by way of
housings. The gentlemen of the Fostat had ridden away
hours ago, cross-legged and serene; and we had witnessed
their demeanor with mingled admiration and envy. Now,
modestly conscious of our own daring, we prepared to do
likewise. It was a solemn moment when, having chosen
our beasts, we prepared to encounter the unknown perils
of the desert. What wonder if the happy couple exchanged
an affecting farewell at parting?

We mounted and rode away; two imps of darkness fol-
lowing at the heels of our camels and Salame performing
the part of body-guard. Thus attended, we found our-
selvelves pitched, swung and rolled along at a pace that
carried us rapidly up the slope, past a suburb full of cafes
and grinning dancing-girls and out into the desert. Our
way for the first half-mile or so lay among tombs. A
great Mohammedan necropolis, part ancient, part modern,
lies behind Assuan and covers more ground than the town
itself. Some scores of tiny mosques, each topped by its
little cupola and all more or less dilapidated, stand here
amid a wilderness of scattered tombstones. Some are
isolated; some grouped picturesquely together. Each
covers, or is supposed to cover, the grave of a Moslem
santon; but some are mere commemorative chapels dedi-
cated to saints and martyrs elsewhere buried. Of simple
headstones defaced, shattered, overturned, propped back
to back on cairns of loose stones, or piled in broken and
dishonored heaps, there must be many hundreds. They
are for the most part rounded at the top like ancient
Egyptian stela? and bear elaborately carved inscriptions,
some of which are in the Cufic character and more than a
thousand years old. Seen when the sun is bending west-
ward and the shadows are lengthening, there is something
curiously melancholy and picturesque about this city of the
dead in the dead desert.

Leaving the tombs, we now strike off toward the left,
bound for the obelisk in the quarry, which is the stock
sight of the place. The horizon beyond Assuan is bounded
on all sides by rocky heights, bold and picturesque in
form, yet scarcely lofty enough to deserve the name of
mountains. The' sandy bottom under our camel's feet is
strewn with small pebbles and tolerably firm. Clustered

ASS VAX AND ELEPHANTINE. 1?1

rocks of black and red granite profusely inscribed with
hieroglypbed records crop up here and there and serve as
landmarks just where landmarks are needed. For nothing
would be easier than to miss one's way among these tawny
slopes and to go wandering off, like lost Israelites, into the
desert.

Winding in and out among undulating hillocks and
tracts of rolled bowlders, we come at last to a little group
of cliffs, at the foot of which our camels halt unbidden.
Here we dismount, climb a short slope and find the huge
monolith at our feet.

Being cut horizontally, it lies half-buried in drifted sand,
with nothing to show that it is not wholly disengaged
and ready for transport. Our books tell us, however, that
the under-cutting has never been done and that it is
yet one with the granite bottom on which it seems to lie.
Both ends are hidden; but one can pace some sixty feet
of its yet visible surface. That surface bears the tool-
marks of the workmen. A slanting groove pitted with
wedge-holes indicates where it was intended to taper to-
ward the top. Another shows where it was to be reduced
at the sides. Had it been finished, this would have been
the largest obelisk in the world. The great obelisk of
Queen Hatshepsu at Karnak, which, as its inscriptions
record, came also from Assuan, stands ninety-two feet high
and measures eight feet square at the base;* but this which
lies sleeping in the desert would have stood ninety-five feet
in the shaft, and have measured over eleven feet square at
the base. We can never know now why it was left here, nor
guess with what royal name it should have been inscribed.
Had the king said in his heart that he would set up a
mightier obelisk than was ever yet seen by eyes of men,
and did he die before the block could be extracted from
the quarry? Or were the quarry men driven from the
desert, and the Pharaoh from his throne, by the hungry
hordes of Ethiopia, or Syria, or the islands beyond the
sea ? The great stone may be older than Rameses the
Great, or as modern as the last of the Romans; but to give
it a date, or to divine its history, is impossible. Egypt-

* These are the measurements given in Murray's hand-book. The
new English translation of Mariette's "Itineraire de la Haute Egypte"
gives the obelisk of Hatshepsu one hundred and eight feet ten inches
in height. See "The Monuments of Upper Egypt," translated by
Alphonse Mariette, London, 1877.

172 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

ology, which has solved the enigma of the sphinx, is power-
less here. The obelisk of the quarry holds its secret safe,
and holds it forever.

Ancient Egyptian quarrying is seen under its most strik-
ing aspect among extensive limestone or sandstone ranges,
as at Turra and Silsilis; but the process by which the stone
was extracted can nowhere be more distinctly traced than at
Assuan. In some respects, indeed, the quarries here, though
on a smaller scale than those lower down the river, are
even more interesting. Nothing surprises one at Silsilis,
for instance, more than economy with which the sandstone
has been cut from the heart of the mountain; but at As-
suan, as the material was more precious, so does the econ-
omy seem to have been still greater. At Silsilis, the yel-
low cliffs have been sliced as neatly as the cheese in a cheese-
monger's window. Smooth, upright walls alone mark the
place where the work has been done; and the amount of
debris is altogether insignificant. But at Assuan, when,
extracting granite for sculptural purposes, they attacked
the form of the object required and cut it out roughly to
shape. The great obelisk is but one of the many cases in
point. In the same group of rocks, or one very closely ad-
joining, we saw a rough-hewn column, erect and three
parts detached, as well as the semi-cylindrical hollow from
which its fellow had been taken. One curious recess from
which a quadrant-shaped mass had been cut away puzzled
us immensely. In other places the blocks appeared to
have been coffer shaped. We sought in vain, however, for
the broken sarcophagus mentioned in Murray.

But the drifted sands, we may be sure, hide more pre-
cious things than these. Inscriptions are probably as
abundant here as in the breccia of Hamamat. The great
obelisk must have had a fellow, if we only knew where to
look for it. The obelisks of Queen Ilatshepsu, and the
sarcophagi of famous kings, might possibly be traced to
their beds in these quarries. So might the casing-stones
of the Pyramid of Menkara, the massive slabs of the Tem-
ple of the Sphinx, and the walls of the sanctuary of
Philip Aridasusat Karnak. Above all, the syenite Colos-
sus of the Eamesseum and the Colossus of Tanis,* which

* For an account of the discovery of this enormous statue and tlie
measurements of its various parts, see "Tanis," Part I, by W. M.
Flinders Petrie, chap, ii, pp. 22 et seq., published by the Egypt Ex-
ploration Fund, 1885. [Note to second edition.]

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 173

was the largest detached statue in the world, must each
have left its mighty matrix among the rocks close by. But
these, like the song of the sirens or the alias of Achilles,
though " not beyond all conjecture," are among the things
that will never now be discovered.

As regards the process of quarrying at Assuan, it seems
that rectangular granite blocks were split off here, as the
softer limestone and sandstone elsewhere, by means of
wooden wedges. These were fitted to holes already cut for
their reception; and, being saturated with water, split the
hard rock by mere force of expansion. Every quarried
mass hereabouts is marked with rows of these wedge-
holes.

Passing by the way a tiny oasis where there were camels
and a well, and an idle water-wheel, and a patch of
emerald-green barley, we next rode back nearly to the out-
skirts of Assuan, where, in a dismal hollow on the verge of
the desert, may be seen a small, half-buried temple of
Ptolemaic times. Traces of color are still visible on the
winged globe under the cornice, and on some mutilated
bas-reliefs at either side of the principal entrance. Seeing
that the interior was choked with rubbish, we made no
attempt to go inside ; but rode away again without
dismounting.

And now, there being still an hour of daylight, we sig-
nified our intention of making for the top of the nearest
hill, in order to see the sun set This, clearly, was an
unheard of innovation. The camel boys stared, shook
their heads, protested there was " mafeesh sikkeh " (no
road), and evidently regarded as as lunatics. The camels
planted their splay feet obstinately in the sand, tried to
turn back, and, when obliged to yield to the force of cir-
cumstances, abused us all the way. Arrived at the top,
we found ourselves looking down upon the Island of Ele-
phantine, with the Nile, the town, and the dahabeeyahs at
our feet. A prolongation of the ridge on which we were
standing led, however, to another height crowned by a
ruined tomb; and seemed to promise a view of the cataract.
Seeing us prepare to go on, the camel boys broke into a
furor of remonstrance, which, but for Salame's big stick,
would have ended in downright mutiny. Still we pushed
forward, and, still dissatisfied, insisted on attacking a
third summit. The boys now trudged on in sullen des-

174 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE N ILK.

pair. The sun was sinking ; the way was steep and diffi-
cult ; the night would soon come on. If the howadji
chose to break their necks, it concerned nobody but them-
selves; but if the camels broke theirs, who was to pay for
them?

Such — expressed half in broken Arabic, half in gestures
— were the sentiments of our youthful Nubians. Nor were
the camels themselves less emphatic. They grinned; they
sniffed ; they snorted ; they snarled ; they disputed every
foot of the way. As for mine (a gawky, supercilious
beast with a bloodshot eye and a battered Eoman nose), I
never heard any dumb animal make use of so much bad
language in my life.

The last hill was very steep and stony ; but the view
from the top was magnificent. We had now gained the
highest point of the ridge which divides the valley of the
Nile from the Arabian desert. The cataract, widening
away reach after reach and studded with innumerable
rocky islets, looked more like a lake than a river. Of the
Libyan desert we could see nothing beyond the opposite
sand-slopes, gold-rimmed against the sunset. The Arabian
desert, a boundless waste edged by a serrated line of pur-
ple peaks, extended eastward to the remotest horizon. We
looked down upon it as on a raised map. The Moslem
tombs, some five hundred feet below, showed like toys.
To the right, in a wide valley opening away southward,
we recognized that ancient bed of the Nile which serves
for the great highway between Egypt and Nubia. At the
end of the vista, some very distant palms against a rocky
background pointed the way to Philae.

Meanwhile the sun was fast sinking — the lights were
crimsoning — the shadows were lengthening. All was
silent ; all was solitary. We listened, but could scarcely
hear the murmur of the rapids. We looked in vain for
the quarry of the obelisk. It was but one group of rocks
among scores of others, and to distinguish it at this dis-
tance was impossible.

Presently, a group of three or four black figures,
mounted on little gray asses, came winding in and out
among the tombs, and took the road to Phila?. To us
they were moving specks; but our lynx-eyed camel boys at
once recognized the " Sheik el Shelhil " (sheik of the cata-
ract) and his retinue. More dahabeeyahs had come in;

ASSUAN AND ELEPHANTINE. 175

and the worthy man, having spent the clay in Assuan
visiting, palavering, bargaining, whs now going home to
Mahatta for the night. We watched the retreating riders
for some minutes, till twilight stole up the ancient channel
like a flood and drowned them in warm shadows.

The after-glow had faded off the heights when we at
length crossed the last ridge, descended the last hillside,
and regained the level from which we had started. Here once
more we met the Fostat party. They had ridden to Philae
and back by the desert and were apparently all the worse
for wear. Seeing us they urged their camels to a trot and
tried to look as if they liked it. The idle man and the
writer wreathed their countenances in ghastly smiles and
did likewise. Not for worlds would they have admitted
that they found the pace difficult. Such is the moral in-
fluence of the camel. He acts as a tonic; he promotes
the Spartan virtues; and if not himself heroic, is, at least,
the cause of heroism in others.

It was nearly dark when we reached Assuan. The cafes
were all alight and astir. There was smoking and coffee-
drinking going on outside ; there were sounds of music
and laughter within. A large private house on the opposite
side of the road was being decorated as if for some festive
occasion. Flags were flying from the roof, and two men
were busy putting up a gayly-painted inscription over the
doorway. Asking, as was natural, if there was a marriage
or a fantasia afoot, it was not a little startling to be told
that these were signs of mourning, and that the master of
the house had died during the interval that elapsed between
our riding out and riding back again.

In Egypt, where the worship of ancestry and the pres-
ervation of the body were once among the most sacred du-
ties of the living, they now make short work with their
dead. He was to be buried, they said, to-morrow morning,
three hours after sunrise.

i:<; A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

CHAPTER XI.

THE CATARACT AND THE DESERT.

At Assuan one bids good-by to Egypt and enters Nubia
through the gates of the cataract — which is, in truth, no
cataract but a succession of rapids extending over two-
thirds of the distance between Elephantine and Philse.
The Nile — diverted from its original course by some unre-
corded catastrophe, the nature of which has given rise to
much scientific conjecture — here spreads itself over a rocky
basin bounded by sand-slopes on the one side and by gran-
ite cliffs on the other. Studded with numberless islets,
divided into numberless channels, foaming over sunken
rocks, eddying among water-worn bowlders, now shallow,
now deep, now loitering, now hurrryiug, here sleeping in
the ribbed hollow of a tiny sand-drift, there circling above
the vortex of a hidden whirlpool, the river, whether looked
upon from the deck of the dahabeeyah or the heights along
the shore, is seen everywhere to be fighting its way through
a labyrinth, the paths of which have never yet been mapped
or sounded.

Those paths are everywhere difficult and everywhere
dangerous; and to that labyrinth the shellalee, or cataract
Arab, alone possesses the key. At the time of the inunda-
tion, when all but the highest rocks are under water and
navigation is as easy here as elsewhere, the shellalee's oc-
cupation is gone. But as the floods subside and travelers
begin to reappear, his work commences. To haul daha-
beeyahs up those treacherous rapids by sheer stress of rope
and muscle; to steer skillfully down again through channels
bristling with rocks and boiling with foam, becomes now,
for some five months of the year, his principal industry.
It is hard work, but he gets well paid for it, and his profits
are always on the increase. From forty to fifty dahabee-
yahs are annually taken up between November and March;

THE CA TA BA CT A NT) THE D ESEU T. 177

and every year brings a larger influx of travelers. Mean-
while, accidents rarely happen; prices tend continually up-
ward; and the cataract-Arabs make a little fortune by their
singular monopoly.*

The scenery of the first cataract is like nothing else in the
world — except the scenery of the second. It is altogether
new, and strange, and beautiful. It is incomprehensible
that travelers should have written of it in general with so
little admiration. They seem to have been impressed by
the wildness of the waters, by the quaint forms of the
rocks, by the desolation and grandeur of the landscape as
a whole; but scarcely at all by its beauty — which is
paramount.

The Nile here widens to a lake. Of the islands, which
it would hardly be an exaggeration to describe as some
hundreds in number, no two are alike. Some are piled up
like the rocks at the Land's End in Cornwall, block upon
block, column upon column, tower upon tower, as if
reared by the hand of man. Some are green with grass;
some golden with slopes of drifted sand; some planted with
rows of blossoming lupins, purple and white. Others
again are mere cairns of loose blocks, with here and there a
perilously balanced top-bowlder. On one, a singular
upright monolith, like a menhir, stands conspicuous, as if
placed there to commemorate a date, or to point the way
to Philae. Another mass rises out of the water squared
and buttressed, in the likeness of a fort. A third, humped
and shining like the wet body of some amphibious beast,
lifts what seems to be a horned head above the surface of
the rapids. All these blocks and bowlders and fantastic
rocks are granite; some red, some purple, some black.
Their forms are rounded by the friction of ages. Those
nearest the brink reflect the sky like mirrors of burnished
steel. Royal ovals and hieroglyphed inscriptions, fresh as
of yesterday's cutting, start out here and there from those
glittering surfaces with startling distinctness. A few of
the larger islands are crowned with clumps of palms; and

* The increase of steamer traffic bas considerably altered tbe con-
ditions of Nile traveling since tbis was written, and fewer dababee-
yabs are consequently employed. By tbose wbo can afford it, and
who really desire to get tbe utmost pleasure, instruction, and interest
from tbe trip, tbe dababeeyab will, however, always be preferred,
[Note to second edition.]

178 A THOUSAND MILKS UP THE NILE.

one, the loveliest of any, is completely embowered in gum-
trees and acacias, dom and date palms, and feathery
tamarisks, all festooned together under a hanging canopy
of yellow-blossomed creepers.

On a brilliant .Sunday morning, with a favorable wind,
we entered on this fairy archipelago. Sailing steadily
against the current, we glided away from Assuan, left
Elephantine behind, and found ourselves at once in the
midst of the islands. From this moment every turn of the
tiller disclosed a fresh point of view, and we sat on deck,
spectators of a moving panorama. The diversity of sub-
jects was endless. The combinations of form and color, of
light and shadow, of foreground and distance, were
continually changing. A boat or a few figures alone were
wanting to complete the picturesqueness of the scene; but
in all those channels, and among all those islands, we saw
no sign of any living creature.

Meanwhile the sheik of the cataract — a flat-faced,
fishy-eyed old Nubian, with his head tied up in a dingy
yellow silk handkerchief — sat apart in solitary grandeur
at the stern, smoking a long chibouque. Behind him
squatted some five or six dusky strangers; and a new steers-
man, black as a negro, had charge of the helm. This new
steersman was our pilot for Nubia. From Assuan to Wady
Halfeh, and back again to Assuan, he alone was now held
responsible for the safety of the dahabeeyah and all on
board.

At length a general stir among the crew warned us of
the near neighborhood of the first rapid. Straight ahead,
as if ranged along the dike of a weir, a chain of small
islets barred the way; while the current, divided into three
or four headlong torrents, came rushing down the slope,
and reunited at the bottom in one tumultuous race.

That we should ever get the Phila? up that hill of
moving water seemed at first sight impossible. Still our
steersman held on his course, making for the widest
channel. Still the sheik smoked imperturbably.
Presently, without removing the pipe from his mouth, lie
delivered the one word — " Roohh!" " Forward!"

Instantly, evoked by his nod, the rocks swarmed with
natives. Hidden till now in all sorts of unseen corners,
they sprang out shouting, gesticulating, laden with coils of
rope, leaping into the thick of the rapids, splashing like

THE CA TARAGT AND THE DESERT. \ ] 9

water-dogs, bobbing like corks, and making as much show
of energy as if they were going to haul us up Niagara.
The tiling was evidently a coup tie theatre, like the appari-
tion of Clan Alpine's warriors in the Donna del Lago — with
backshish in the background. The scene that followed
was curious enough. Two rojies were carried from the
dahabeeyah to the nearest island, and there made fast to
the rocks. Two ropes from the island were also brought
on board the dahabeeyah. A double file of men on deck,
and another double rile on shore, then ranged themselves
along the ropes; the sheik gave the signal; and, to a wild
chanting accompaniment and a movement like a barbaric
Sir Roger de Coverley dance, a system of double hauling
began, by means of which the huge boat slowly and
steadily ascended. We may have been a quarter of an
hour going up the incline; though it seemed much longer.
Meanwhile, as they warmed to their work, the men chanted
louder and pulled harder, till the boat went in at last with
a rush, and swung over into a pool of comparatively
smooth water.

Having moored here for an hour's rest, we next repeated
the performance against a still stronger current a little
higher up. This time, however, a rope broke. Down
went the haulers, like a row of cards suddenly tipped
over — round swung the Phila?, receiving the whole rush of
the current on her beam! Luckily for us, the other rope
held fast against the strain. Had it also broken, we must
have been wrecked then and there ignominiously.

Our Nubian auxiliaries struck work after this. Fate,
they said, was adverse; so they went home, leaving us
moored for the night in the pool at the top of the first
rapid. The sheik promised, however, that his people
should begin work next morning at dawn, and get us
through before sunset. Next morning came, however, and
not a man appeared upon the scene. At about midday
they began dropping in, a few at a time; hung about in a
languid, lazy way for a couple of hours or so; moved us
into a better position for attacking the next rapid; and
then melted away mysteriously by twos and threes among
the rocks, and were no more seen.

We now felt that our time and money were being reck-
lessly squandered, and we resolved to bear it no longer.
Our painter therefore undertook to remonstrate with the

180 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

sheik, and to convince him of the error of his ways. The
sheik listened; smoked; shook his head; replied that in
the cataract, as elsewhere, there were lucky and unlucky
days, days when men felt inclined to work, and days when
they felt disinclined. To-day as it happened, they felt
disinclined. Being reminded that it was unreasonable
to keep us three days going up five miles of river, and that
there was a governor at Assuan to whom we should appeal
to-morrow unless the work went on in earnest, he smiled,
shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something about
"destiny."

Now the painter, being of a practical turn, had compiled
for himself a little vocabulary of choice Arabic maledic-
tions, which he carried in his note-book for reference when
needed. Having no faith in its possible usefulness, we
were amused by the industry with which he was constantly
adding to this collection. We looked upon it, in fact, as
a harmless pleasantry — just as we looked upon his pocket-
revolver, which was never loaded ; or his brand-new
fowling-piece, which he was never known to fire.

But the sheik of the cataract had gone too far. The
fatuity of that smile would have exasperated the meekest
of men; and our painter was not the meekest of men. So
he whipped out his pocket-book, ran his finger down the
line, and delivered an appropriate quotation. His accent
may not have been faultless; but there could be no mistake
as to the energy of his style or the vigor of his language.
The effect of both was instantaneous. The sheik sprang
to his feet as if he had been shot — turned pale with rage
under his black skin — vowed the Philae might stay where
she was till doomsday, for aught that he or his men would
do to help her a foot farther — bounded into his own rick-
etty sandal and rowed away, leaving us to our fate.

We stood aghast. It was all over with us. We should
never see Abou Simbel now — never write our names on
the Rock of Aboosir, nor slake our thirst at the waters of
the second cataract. What was to be done? Must the
sheik be defied, or propitiated? Should we appeal to the
governor, or should wTe immolate the painter? The ma-
jority were for immolating the painter.

We went to bed that night, despairing ; but lo ! next
morning at sunrise appeared the sheik of the cata-
ract, all smiles, all activity, with no end of ropes and a

THE CA TA RA CT AND THE D E8ER T. 1 s 1

force of two hundred men. We were his dearest friends
now. The painter was his brother. He had called out
the ban and arriere ban of the cataract in our service.
There was nothing, in short, that he would not do to
oblige us.

The dragoman vowed that he had never seen Nubians
work as those Nubians worked that day. They fell to like
giants, tugging away from morn till dewy eve, and never
giving over till they brought us round the last corner and
up the last rapid. The sun had set, the after-glow had
faded, the twilight was closing in, when our dahabeeyah
slipped at last into level water, and the two hundred, with
a parting shout, dispersed to their several villages.

We were never known to make light of the painter's
repertory of select abuse after this. If that note-book of
his had been the drowned book of Prospero, or the magical
Papyrus of Thoth fished up anew from the bottom of the
Nile, we could not have regarded it with a respect more
nearly bordering upon awe.

Though there exists no boundary line to mark where
Egypt ends and Nubia begins, the nationality of the races
dwelling on either side of that invisible barrier is as sharply
defined as though an ocean divided them. Among the
shellalee, or cataract villagers, one comes suddenly into
the midst of a people that have apparently nothing in
common with the population of Egypt. They belong to a
lower ethnological type, and they speak a language derived
from purely African sources. Contrasting with our Arab
sailors the sulky-looking, half-naked, muscular savages
who thronged about the Philae during her passage up the
cataract, one could not but perceive that they are to this
day as distinct and inferior a people as when their Egyp-
tian conquerors, massing together in one contemptuous
epithet all nations south of the frontier, were wont to speak
of them as as " the vile race of Kush." Time has done
little to change them since those early days. Some Arabic
words have crept into their vocabulary. Some modern
luxuries — as tobacco, coffee, soap, and gunpowder — have
come to be included in the brief catalogue of their daily
wants. But in most other respects they are living to this
day as they lived in the time of the Pharaohs ; cultivating
lentils and durra, brewing barley beer, plaiting mats and
baskets of stained reeds, tracing rude patterns upon bowls

182 A THOUSAND MILKS UP TDK NILE.

of gourd-rind, flinging the javelin, hurling the boomerang,
fashioning bucklers of crocodile-skin and bracelets of ivory,
and supplying Egypt with henna. The dexterity with
which, sitting as if in a wager boat, they balance them-
selves on a palm-log, and paddle to and fro about the
river, is really surprising. This barbaric substitute for a
boat is probably more ancient than the pyramids.

Having witnessed the passage of the first few rapids, we
were glad to escape from the dahabeeyah and spend our
time sketching here and there on the borders of the desert
and among the villages and islands round about. In all
Egypt and Nubia there is no scenery richer in picturesque
bits than the scenery of the cataract. An artist might
pass a winter there, and not exhaust the pictorial wealth
of those five miles which divide Assuan from Philse. Of
tortuous creeks shut in by rocks fantastically piled — of
sand-slopes golden to the water's edge — of placid pools
low-lying in the midst of lupin-fields and tracts of tender
barley — of creaking sakkiehs, half-hidden among palms
and dropping water as they turn — of mud dwellings, here
clustered together in hollows, there perched separately on
heights among the rocks, and perpetuating to this day the
form and slope of Egyptian pylons — of rude boats drawn
up in sheltered coves, or going to pieces high and dry upon
the sands — of water-washed bowlders of crimson, and
black, and purple granite, on which the wild fowl cluster
at midday and the fisher spreads his nets to dry at sunset
— of camels, and caravans, and camps on shore — of cargo-
boats and caugias on the river — of wild figures of half-
naked athletes — of dusky women decked with barbaric
ornaments, unveiled, swift-gliding, trailing long robes of
deepest gentian blue — of ancient crones, and little naked
children like live bronzes — of these, and a hundred other
subjects, in infinite variety and combination, there is liter-
ally no end. It is all so picturesque, indeed, so biblical,
so poetical, that one is almost in danger of forgetting that
the places are something more than beautiful backgrounds,
and that the people are not merely appropriate figures
placed there for the delight of sketchers, but are made of
living flesh and blood, and moved by hopes, and fears, and
sorrows, like our own.

Mahatta. green with sycamores and tufted palms,
nestled in the hollow of a little bay; half-islanded in the

THE CARARACT AND THE DESERT. 183

rear by an arm of backwater, curved and glittering like tbe
blade of a Turkish cimeter, is by far the most beautifully
situated village on the Nile. It is the residence of the prin-
cipal sheik, and, if one may say so, is the capital of the cat-
aract. The houses lie some way back from the river. The
bay is thronged with native boats of all sizes and colors.
Men and camels, women and children, donkeys, dogs, mer-
chandise and temporary huts, put together with poles and
matting, crowd the sandy shore. It is Assuan over again,
but on a larger scale. The shipping is tenfold more
numerous. The traders' camp is in itself a village. The
beach is half a mile in length and a quarter of a mile in
the slope down to the river. Mahatta is, in fact, the twin
port to Assuan. It lies, not precisely at the other extremity
of the great valley between Assuan and Philse, but at the
nearest accessible point above the cataract. It is here that
the Soudan traders disembark their goods for re-embarka-
tion at Assuan. Such ricketty, barbaric-looking craft as
these Nubian cangias we had not yet seen on the river.
They looked as old and obsolete as the ark. Some had
curious carved verandas outside the cabin-entrance.
Others were tilted up at the stern like Chinese junks.
Most of them had been slavers in the palmy days of Defter-
dar Bey; plying then as now between Wady Half eh and
Mahatta, discharging their human cargoes at this point for
re-shipment at Assuan; and rarely passing the cataract,
even at the time of inundation. If their wicked old tim-
bers could have spoken they might have told us many a
black and bloody tale.

Going up through the village and palm gardens, and
turning off in a northeasterly direction toward the desert,
one presently comes out about midway of that valley to
which I have made allusion more than once already. No
one, however unskilled in physical geography, could look
from end to end of that huge furrow and not see that it was
once a river-bed. We know not for how many tens of
thousands, or hundreds of thousands, of years the Nile
may have held on its course within those original bounds.
Neither can we tell when it deserted them. It is,
however, quite certain that the river flowed that way
within historic times; that is to say, in the days of
Amenemhat III {circa b. c. 2800). So much is held to be

184 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

proven by certain inscriptions* which record the maximum
height of the inundation at Semneh during various years
of that king's reign. The Nile then rose in Ethiopia to a
level some twenty-seven feet in excess of the highest point
to which it is ever known to attain at the present day. I
am not aware what relation the height of this ancient bed
bears to the levels recorded at Semneh, or to those now
annually self-registered upon the furrowed banks of Philae;
but one sees at a glance, without aid of measurements or
hydrographic science, that if the river were to come down
again next summer in a mighty "bore," the crest of which
rose twenty-seven feet above the highest ground now fer-
tilized by the annual overflow, it would at once refill its
long-deserted bed and convert Assuan into an island.

Granted, then, that the Nile flowed through the desert
in the time of Amenemhat III, there must at some later
period have come a day when it suddenly ran dry. This
catastrophe is supposed to have taken place about the
time of the expulsion of the Ilvksos {circa B.C. 1703),
when a great disruption of the rocky barrier at Silsilis is
thought to have taken place; so draining Nubia, which till

* "The most important discovery which we have made here, and
which I shall only mention briefly, is a series of short rock inscrip-
tions, which mark the highest rises of the Nile during a series of
years under the government of Amenemhat III and of his immediate
successors. . . . They proved that the river, above four thou-
sand years ago, rose more than twenty-four feet higher than now,
and therel>y must have produced totally different conditions in the
inundation and in the whole surface of the ground, both above and
below this spot." — Lepsius1 Letter* from Egypt, etc. Letter xxvi.

"The highest rise of the Nile in each year at Semneh was regis-
tered by a mark indicating the year of the king's reign, cut in the
granite, either on one of the blocks forming the foundation of the
fortress or on the cliff, and particularly on the east or right bank, as
best adapted for the purpose. Of these markings eighteen still remain,
thirteen of them having been made in the reign of Moeris (Amenem-
hat III) and five in the time of his next two successsors. . . . We
have here presented to us the remarkable facts that the highest of
the records now legible, viz: that of the thirtieth year of the reign of
Amenemhat, according to exact measurements which I made, is 8.17
meters (twenty-six feet eight inches) higher than the highest level to
which the Nile rises in years of the greatest floods; and, further,
that the lowest mark, which is on the east bank, and indicated the
fifteenth year of the same king, is still 4.14 meters (thirteen feet six
and a half inches); and the single mark on the west bank, indicating
the ninth year, is 2.77 meters (nine feet) above the highest level." —
Lepsius' Letter to Professor Ehrenburg. See Appendix to the above.

THE CAR All ACT AND THE DESERT. 185

now had played the part of a vast reservoir, and dispersing
the pent-up floods over the plains of Southern Egypt.
It would, however, be a mistake to conclude that the Nile
was by this catastrophe turned aside in order to be precip-
itated in the direction of the cataract. One arm of the
river must always have taken the present lower and deeper
course; while the other must of necessity have run low —
perhaps very nearly dry — as the inundation subsided every
spring.

There remains no monumental record of this event; but
the facts speak for themselves. The great channel is
there. The old Nile mud is there — buried for the most
part in sand, but still visible on many a rocky shelf and
plateau between Assuan and Philae. There are even places
where the surface of the mass is seen to be scooped out, as
if by the sudden rush of the departing waters. Since that
time, the tides of war and commerce have flowed in their
place. Every conquering Thothmes and Pamcses bound
for the land of Kush, led his armies that way. Sabacon,
at the head of his Ethiopian hordes, took that short cut to
the throne of all the Pharaohs. The French under
Desaix, pursuing the Memlooks after the battle of the
pyramids, swept down that pass to Philae. Meanwhile the
whole trade of the Soudan, however interrupted at times
by the ebb and flow of war, has also set that way. We
never crossed those five miles of desert without encounter-
ing a train or two of baggage-camels laden either with
European goods for the far south, or with oriental treasures
for the north.

I shall not soon forget an Abyssinian caravan which we
met one day just coming out from Mahatta. It consisted
of seventy camels laden with elephant tusks. The tusks,
which were about fourteen feet in length, were packed in
half-dozens and sewed up in buffalo hides. Each camel
was slung with two loads, one at either side of the hump.
There must have been about eight hundred and forty tusks
in all. Beside each shambling beast strode a bare-footed
Nubian. Following these, on the back of a gigantic
camel, came a hunting-leopard in a wooden cage and a
wildcat in a basket. Last of all marched a coal-black
Abyssinian nearly seven feet in height, magnificently
shawled and turbaned, with a huge cimeter dangling by
his side and in his belt a pair of enormous inlaid seven-

186 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

teentli-century pistols, such as would have heconie the
holsters of Prince Rupert. This elaborate warrior repre-
sented the guard of the caravan. The hunting-leopard
and the wildcat were for Prince Hassan, the third son of
the viceroy. The ivory was for exportation. Anything
more picturesque than this procession, with the dust driv-
ing before it in clouds and the children following it out of
the village, it would be difficult to conceive. One longed
for Gerome to paint it on the spot.

The rocks on either side of the ancient river-bed are
profusely hieroglyphed. These inscriptions, together with
others found in the adjacent quarries, range over a period
of between three and four thousand years, beginning with
the early reigns of the ancient empire and ending with
the Ptolemies and Caesars. Some are mere autographs.
Others run to a considerable length. Many are headed
with figures of gods and worshipers. These, however, are
for the most part mere graffiti, ill-drawn and carelessly
sculptured. The records they illustrate are chiefly votive.
The passer-by adores the gods of the cataract; implores
their protection ; registers his name and states the object
of his journey. The votaries are of various ranks, periods,
and nationalities; but the formula in most instances is
pretty much the same. Now it is a citizen of Thebes per-
forming the pilgrimage to Phila? ; or a general at the head
of his troops returning from a foray in Ethiopia ; or a
tributary prince doing homage to Rameses the Great, and
associating his suzerain with the divinities of the place.
Occasionally we come upon a royal cartouche and a pomp-
ous catalogue of titles, setting forth how the Pharaoh him-
self, the Golden Hawk, the Son of Ra, the Mighty, the
Invincible, the Godlike, passed that way.

It is curious to see how royalty, so many thousand years
ago, set the fashion in names, just as it does to this day.
Nine-tenths of the ancient travelers who left their signa-
tures upon these rocks were called Rameses or Thothmes or
Usertasen. Others, still more ambitious, took the names
of gods. Ampere, who hunted diligently for inscriptions
both here and among the islands, found the autographs of
no end of merely mortal Aniens and Hathors.*

* For copies and translations of a large number of the graffiti of
Assuan, see Lepsius' "Denkmaler;" also, for the most recent and
the fullest collection of the rock-cut inscriptions of Assuan and its

THE GARARACT AND THE DESERT. 18?

Our three days' detention in the cataract was followed
by a fourth of glossy calm. There being no breath of air
to fill our sails and no footing for the trackers, we could
now get along only by dint of hard punting; so that it was
past midday before the Philse lay moored at last in the
shadow of the holy island to which she owed her name.

neighborhood, including the hitherto uncopied inscriptions of the
Saba Rigaleh Valley, of Elephantine, of the rocks above Silsileh, etc.,
etc., see Mr. W. M. Flinders Petrie's latest volume, entitled "A
Season's Work in Egypt, 1877," published by Field & Tuer, 1888.
[Note to second edition.]

188 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER XII.

PHIL.E.

Having been for so many clays within easy reach of
Philaj, it is not to be supposed that we were content till now
with only an occasional glimpse of its towers in the dis-
tance. On the contrary, we had found our way thither
toward the close of almost every day's excursion. We had
approached it by land from the desert; by water in the fe-
lucca; from Mahatta by way of the path between the cliffs
and the river. When I add that we moored here for a
night and the best part of two days on our way up the
river, and again for a week when we came down, it will be,
seen that we had time to learn the lovely island by heart.

The approach by water is quite the most beautiful. Seen
from the level of a small boat, the island, with its palms,
its colonnades, its pylons, seems to rise out of the river like
a mirage. Piled rocks frame it in on either side, and pur-
ple mountains close up the distance. As the boat glides
nearer between glistening bowlders, those sculptured tow-
ers rise higher and ever higher against the sky. They
show no sign of ruin or of age. All looks solid, stately,
perfect. One forgets for the moment that anything is
changed. If a sound of antique chanting were to be borne
along the quiet air — if a procession of white-robed priests
bearing aloft the veiled ark of the god were to come
sweeping round between the palms and the pylons — we
should not think it strange.

Most travelers land at the end nearest the cataract; so
coming upon the principal temple from behind and seeing
it in reverse order. We, however, bid our Arabs row
round to the southern end, where was once a stately land-
ing-place with steps down to the river. We skirt the steep
banks and pass close under the beautiful little roofless tem-
ple commonly known as Pharaoh's bed — that temple which

PH1LM 189

lias been so often painted, so often photographed, that
every stone of it, and the platform on which it stands, and
the tufted palms that cluster round about it, have been
since childhood as familiar to our mind's eye as the sphinx
or the pyramids. It is larger, but not one jot less beauti-
ful than we had expected. And it is exactly like the pho-
tographs. Still, one is conscious of perceiving a shade of
difference too subtle for analysis; like the difference between
a familiar face and the reflection of it in a looking-glass.
Anyhow, one feels that the real Pharaoh's bed will hence-
forth displace the photographs in that obscure mental
pigeon-hole where till now one has been wont to store the
well-known image; and that even the photographs have
undergone some kind of change.

And now the corner is rounded; and the river widens
away southward between mountains and palm-groves; and
the prow touches the debris of a ruined quay. The bank
is steep here. We climb, and a wonderful scene opens
before our eyes. We are standing at the lower end of a
court-yard leading up to the propylons of the great temple.
The court-yard is irregular in shape and inclosed on either
side by covered colonnades. The colonnades are of un-
equal lengths and set at different angles. One is simply a
covered walk; the other opens upon a row of small cham-
bers, like a monastic cloister opening upon a row of cells.
The roofing-stones of these colonnades are in part dis-
placed, while here and there a pillar or a capital is missing;
but the twin towers of the propylon, standing out in sharp,
unbroken lines against the sky and covered with colossal
sculptures, are as perfect, or very nearly as perfect, as in
the days of the Ptolemies who built them.

The broad area between the colonnades is honeycombed
with crude brick foundations — vestiges of a Coptic village
of early Christian time. Among these we thread our way
to the foot of the principal propylon, the entire width
of which is one hundred and twenty feet. The towers
measure sixty feet from base to parapet. These dimensions
are insignificant for Egypt; yet the propylon, which would
look small at Luxor or Karnak, does not look small at
Philse. The key-note here is not magnitude, but beauty.
The island is small — that is to say, it covers an area about
equal to the summit of the Acropolis at Athens; and the
scale of the buildiugs has been determined by the size of

190 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the island. As at Athens, the ground is occupied by one
principal temple of moderate size and several subordinate
chapels. Perfect grace, exquisite proportion, most varied
and capricious grouping, here take the place of massive-
ness; so lending to Egyptian forms an irregularity of
treatment that is almost gothic and a lightness that is
almost Greek.

And now we catch glimpses of an inner court, of a
second propylon, of a pillared portico beyond ; while,
looking up to the colossal bas-reliefs above our heads, we
see the usual mystic form of kings and deities, crowned,
enthroned, worshiping and worshiped. These sculptures,
which at first sight looked no less perfect than the towers,
prove to be as laboriously mutilated as those of Denderah.
The hawk-head of Horus and the cow-head of Ilathor have
here and there escaped destruction; but the human-faced
deities are literally "sans eyes, sans nose, sans ears, sans
everything."

We enter the inner court — an irregular quadrangle
inclosed on the east by an open colonnade, on the west by
a chapel fronted with Hathor-headed columns, and on the
north and south sides by the second and first propylons.
In this quadrangle a cloisteral silence reigns. The blue sky
burns above — the shadows sleep below — a tender twilight
lies about our feet. Inside the chapel there sleeps per-
petual gloom. It was built by Ptolemy Euergetes II, and
is one of that order to which Champollion gave the name
of Mammisi. It is a most curious place, dedicated to
Ilathor and commemorative of the nurture of Horus. On
the blackened walls within, dimly visible by the faint light
which struggles through screen and doorway, we see Isis,
the wife and sister of Osiris, giving birth to Horus. On
the screen panels outside we trace the story of his infancy,
education, and growth. As a babe at the breast, he is
nursed in the lap of Ilathor, the divine foster-mother. As
a young child, he stands at his mother's knee and listens
to the playing of a female harpist (we saw a bare-footed
boy the other day in Cairo thrumming upon a harp of just
the same shape and with precisely as many strings); as a
youth, he sows grain in honor of Isis and offers a jeweled
collar to Ilathor. This Isis, with her long aquiline nose,
thin lips, and haughty aspect, looks like one of the compli-
mentary portraits so often introduced among the temple-

PHILufl. 191

sculptures of Egypt. It may represent one of the two
Cleopatras wedded to Ptolemy Physcon.

Two greyhounds with collars round their necks are
sculptured on the outer wall of another small chapel
adjoining. These also look like portraits. Perhaps they
were the favorite dogs of some high priest of Philge.

Close against the greyhounds and upon the same wall-
space, is engraven that famous copy of the inscription of
the Rosetta stone first observed here by Lepsius in a.d.
1843. It neither stands so high nor looks so illegible as
Ampere (with all the jealousy of a Champollionist and a
Frenchman) is at such pains to make out. One would
have said that it was in a state of more than ordinary good
preservation.

As a reproduction of the Rosetta decree, however, the
Philre version is incomplete. The Eosetta text, after
setting forth with official pomposity the victories and
munificence of the king — Ptolemy V, the ever-living, the
avenger of Egypt — concludes by ordaining that the record
thereof shall be engraven in hieroglyphic, demotic, and
Greek characters, and set up in all temples of the first,
second, and third class throughout the empire. Broken
and battered as it is, the precious black basalt* of the

* Mariette, at the end of his " Apercu de l'histoire d'Egypte,"
give the following succint account of the Rosetta stone and the dis-
covery of Champollion:

" Decouverte, il y a 65 ans environ, par des soldats francais qui
creusaient un retranchement pres d'une redoute situee a Rosette, la
pierre qui porte ce nom a joue le plus grand role dans l'archeologie
Egyptienne. Sur la face principale sont gravees trois inscriptions.
Les deux premieres sont en langue Egyptienne et ecrites dans les
deux ecritures qui avaient cours ii cette epoque. L'une est en
ecriture hieroglyphique n'servee aux pretres: elle ne conipte plus que
14 lignes tronquees par la brisure de la pierre. L 'autre est en une
ecriture cursive appliquee principalement aux usges du peuple et
comprise par lui: celle-ci off re 32 lignes de texte. Enfin, la troisieme
inscription de la stele est en langue grecque et comprend 54 lignes.
C'est dans cette derniere partie (pie reside l'interet du monument
trouve a Rosette. II resulte, en effet, de l'interpretation du texte
grec dela stele que ce texte n'est qu'une version de l'original transcrit
plusthaut dans les deux ecritures Egyptiennes. La Pierre de Rosette
nous donne done, dans une langue parfaitement conuue (le
grec) la traduction d'un texte coneu dans une autre langue encore
ignoree an moment ou la stele a ete decouverte. Qui ne voit l'utilite
de cette mention? Remonter du connu a l'inconnu n'est pas une
operation en dehors des inoyens d'une critique prudente, et deja Ton

192 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

British Museum fulfills these conditions. The three
writings are there. But at Philse, though the original
hieroglyphic and demotic texts are reproduced almost
verbatim, the priceless Greek transcript is wanting. It is
provided for, as upon the Rosetta stone, in the preamble.
Space has been left for it at the bottom of the tablet. We
even fancied we could here and there distinguish traces of
red ink where the lines should come. But not one word
of it has ever been cut into the surface of the stone.

Taken by itself, there is nothing strange in this omis-
sion; but, taken in connection with a precisely similar
omission in another inscription a few yards distant, it be-
comes something more than a coincidence.

devine que si la Pierre de Rosette a acquis dans la science la celebrite
dont elle jouit aujourd'hui, c'est qu'elle a fourni la vraie clef de
cette rnysterieuse ecriture dont l'Egypte a si longtemps garde le
secret. II ne faudrait pas croire cependant que le dechiffrement des
hieroglyphesau moyen de la Pierre de Rosette ait ete obtenu du premier
coup et sans tatonnements. Bien an contraire, les savants s'y essa-
yerent sans succes pendant 20 ans. Entin, Okampollion parut.
Jusqu'a lui, on avait cru que chacune des lettres qui coinposent
l'ecriture hieroglyphique etait un symbolej c'est a dire, que dans une
seule de ces lettres etait exprimee une idee complete. Le; inerite de
Champollion ete de prouver qu'au contraire l'ecriture Egyptienne
contient des signes qui expriment veritablement des sons. En
d'autres termes qu'elle est Alphabetique. U remarqua, par exemple,
que partout ou dans le texte grec de Rosette se trouve le nom propre
Ptolemee, on recontre a l'eudroit correspondant du texte Egyptien un
certain nombre de signes enfermes dans un encadrement elliptique.
II en conclut: 1°, que les noms des rois etaient dans le systeme hiero
glyphique signales a l'attention par une sorte d'ecusson qu'il appela
cartouche: 2 , que les signes contenus dans cet ecusson devaient etre
lettre pour lettre le nom de Ptolemee. Deja done en supposant les
voyelles omises, Champollion etait en possession de cinq lettres — P,
T, L, M, S. D'un autre cote, Champollion savait, d'apres une
seconde inscription grecque gravee sur une obelisque de Philse, que
sur cet obelisque un cartouche hieroglyphique qu'on y voit devait
etre celui de Cleopatre. Si sa premiere lecture etait juste, le P, leL,
et le T, de Ptolemee devaient seretrouver dans le second nom propre;
mais en meme temps ce second nom propre fournissait un K et un R
nouveaux. Eufin, applique a d'autres cartouches, l'alphabet encore
tres imparfait revele a Champollion par les noms de Cleopatre et de
Ptolemee le mit en possession d'a peu pres toutes les autres con-
sonnes. Comme pronunciation des signes, Champollion n'avait done
pas a hesiter, et des le jour ou cette constatatmn eut lieu, il put cer-
tifier qu'il etait en possession de l'alphabet Egyptien. Mais restait
la langue; car prononcer des mots n'est rien si Ton ne sait pas ce que
ces mots veuleut dire. Ici le genie de Champollion se donna libre

PIIIL^J. 193

This second inscription is cut upon the face of a block
of living rock which forms part of the foundation of the
easternmost tower of the second propylon. Having enumer-
ated certain grants of land made to the temple by
Ptolemies VI and VIE, it concludes, like the first, by de-
creeing that this record of the royal bounty shall be en-
graven in the hieroglyphic, demotic and Greek; that is to
say: in the ancient sacred writing of the priests, the ordi-
nary script of the people, and the language of the court.
But here again the sculptor has left his work unfinished.
Here again the inscription breaks off at the end of the de-
motic, leaving a blank space for the third transcript. This
second omission suggests intentional neglect; and the mo-
tive for such neglect would not be far to seek. The tongue
of the dominant race is likely enough to have been unpop-

cours. II s'apercut en effet que son alphabet tire des noms propres
et applique aux mots de la langue donnait tout simplement du Copte.
Or, le Copte a son tour est une langue qui, sans etre aussi exploree
que le grec, n'en etait pas moins depuis longteinps accessible. Cette
t'ois le voileetait done completement leve. La langue Egyptienne
n'est que du Copte ecrit en kieroglypb.es; ou, pour parler plusexacte-
ment, le Copte n'est que la langue des anciens Pharaons, ecrite,
comme nous l'avons dit plus haut, en lettres grecques. Le reste se
devine. D'indices en indices, Champollion proceda veritablement du
connu a l'inconnu, et bientot l'illustre fondateur de l'Egyptologie put
poser les fondements de cette belle science qui a pour objet ['inter-
pretation des hieroglypb.es. Tel est la Pierre de Rosette." — " Apercu
de l'Histoire d'Egypte:" Mariette Bey, p. 189 et seq.: 1872.

In order to have done witb tbis subject, it may be as well to men-
tion that anotber trilingual tablet was found by Mariette while con-
ducting his excavations at San (Tanis) in 1865. It dates from the
ninth year of Ptolemy Euergetes, and the text ordains the deifica-
tion of Berenice, a daughter of the king, then just dead (b. c. 254).
This stone, preserved in the museum at Boulak, is known as the
stone of San, or the decree of Canopus. Had the Kosetta stone
never been discovered, we may fairly conclude that the Canopic
degree would have furnished some later Champollion with the nec-
essary key to hieroglyphic literature, and that the great discovery
would only have been deferred till the present time.

Note to Second Edition. — A third copy of the decree of Canopus,
the text engraved in hieroglyphs only, was found at Tell Nebireh in
1885, and conveyed to the Boulak Museum. The discoverer of this
tablet, however, missed a much greater discovery, reserved, as it
happened, for Mr. W. M. F. Petrie, who came to the spot a month
or two later, and found that the mounds of Tell Nebireh entombed
the remains of the famous and long-lost Greek city of Naukratis.
See "Naukratis," Part I. by W.M. F. Petrie, published by the Egypt
Exploration Fund, 1880.

194 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

U'lar among the old noble and sacerdotal families; and it
may well be that the priesthood of Phila?, secure in their
distant solitary isle, could with impunity evade a clause
which their brethren of the Delta were obliged to obey.

It does not follow that the Greek rule was equally un-
popular. We have reason to believe quite otherwise. The
conqueror of the Persian invader was in truth the deliverer
of Egypt. Alexander restored peace to the country and
the Ptolemies identified themselves with the interests of
the people. A dynasty which not only lightened the bur-
dens of the poor, but respected the privileges of the rich;
which honored the priesthood, endowed the temples, and
compelled the Tigris to restore the spoils of the Nile,
could scarcely fail to win the suffrages of all classes. The
priests of Phila? might despise the language of Homer
while honoring the descendants of Philip of Macedon.
They could naturalize the king. They could disguise his
name in hieroglyphic spelling. They could depict him in
the traditional dress of the Pharaohs. They could crown him
with the double crown, and represent him in the act of
worshiping the gods of his adopted country. But they
could neither naturalize nor disguise his language. Spoken
or written, it was an alien thing. Oarven in high places, it
stood for a badge of servitude. What could a conservative
hierarchy do but abhor, and, when possible, ignore it?

There are other sculptures in this quadrangle which one
would like to linger over; as, for instance, the capitals of
the eastern colonnade, no two of which are alike, and the
grotesque bas-reliefs of the frieze of the Mammisi. Of
these, a quasi-heraldic group, representing the sacred hawk
sitting in the center of a fan-shaped persea tree between
two supporters, is one of the most curious; the supporters
being on the one side a maniacal lion, and on the other a
Typhonian hippopotamus, each grasping a pair of shears.

Passing now through the doorway of the second propylon,
we find ourselves facing the portico — the famous painted
portico of which we had seen so many sketches that we
fancied we knew it already. That second-hand knowledge
goes for nothing, however, in presence of the reality ; and
we are as much taken by surprise as if we were the first
travelers to set foot within these enchanted precincts.

For here is a place in which time seems to have stood as
still as in that immortal palace where everything went to

PfflLyE. 195

sleep for a hundred years. The bas-reliefs on the walls,
the intricate paintings on the ceilings, the colors upon the
capitals, are incredibly fresh and perfect. These exquisite
capitals have long been the wonder and delight of travelers
in Egypt. They are all studied from natural forms —
from the lotus in bud and blossom, the papyrus, and the
palm. Conventionalized with consummate skill, they are
at the same time so justly proportioned to the height and
girth of the columns as to give an air of wonderful light-
ness to the whole structure. But above all, it is with the
color — color conceived in the tender and pathetic minor of
Watteau and Laucret and G-reuze — that one is most fasci-
nated. Of those delicate half-tones, the fac-simile in the
*' Grammar of Ornament " conveys not the remotest idea.
Every tint is softened, intermixed, degraded. The pinks
are coralline; the greens are tempered with verditer ; the
blues are of a greenish turquoise, like the western half of
an autumnal evening sky.

Later on, when we returned to Phila? from the second
cataract, the writer devoted the best part of three days to
making a careful study of a corner of this portico; patiently
matching those subtle variations of tint and endeavoring
to master the secret of their combination.*

Architecturally, this court is unlike any we have yet
seen, being quite small, and open to the sky in the center,
like the atrium of a Roman house. The light thus
admitted glows overhead, lies in a square patch on the
ground below, and is reflected upon the pictured recesses

* The famous capitals are not the only specimens of admirable
coloring in Phila?. Among the battered bas-reliefs of the great col-
onnade at the south end of the island there yet remain some
isolated patches of uninjured and very lovely ornament. See, more
particularly, the mosaic pattern upon the throne of a divinity just
over the second doorway in the western wall; and the designs upon
a series of other thrones a little farther along toward the north,
all most delicately drawn in uniform compartments, picked out in
the three primary colors, and laid on in flat tints of wonderful
purity and delicacy. Among these a lotus between two buds, an
exquisite little sphinx on a pale-red ground, and a series of sacred
hawks, white upon red, alternating with white upon blue, all
most exquisitely conventionalized, may be cited as examples of
absolutely perfect treatment and design in polychrome decoration.
A more instructive and delightful task than the copying of these
precious fragments can hardly be commended to students and
sketchers on the Nile.

196 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

of the ceiling. At the upper end, where the pillars stand
two deep, there was originally an intercolnmnar screen.
The rough sides of the columns show where the connecting
blocks have been torn away. The pavement, too, has been
pulled up by treasure-seekers, and the ground is strewn
with broken slabs and fragments of shattered cornice.

These are the only signs of ruin — signs traced not by the
finger of time, but by the hand of the spoiler. So fresh,
so fair is all the rest, that we are fain to cheat ourselves
for a moment into the belief that what we see is work not
marred, but arrested. Those columns, depend on it, are
yet unfinished. That pavement is about to be relaid. It
would not surprise us to find the masons here to-morrow
morning, or the sculptor, with mallet and chisel, carrying
on that band of lotus buds and bees. Far more difficult
is it to believe that they all struck work forever some
two-and-twenty centuries ago.

Here and there, where the foundations have been dis-
turbed, one sees that the columns are constructed of
sculptured blocks, the fragments of some earlier temple;
while, at a height of about six feet from the ground, a
Greek cross cut deep into the side of the shaft stamps
upon each pillar the seal of Christian worship.

For the Copts who choked the colonnades and court-yards
with their hovels seized also on the temples. Some they
pulled down for building material; others they appro-
priated. We can never know how much they destroyed;
but two large convents on the eastern bank a little higher
up the river, and a small basilica at the north end of the
island, would seem to have been built with the magnificent
masonry of the southern quay, as well as with blocks
taken from a structure which once occupied the south-
eastern corner of the great colonnade. As for this
beautiful painted portico, they turned it into a chapel. A
little rough-hewn niche in the east wall, and an overturned
credence-table fashioned from a single block of limestone,
mark the site of the chancel. The Arabs, taking this last
for a gravestone, have pulled it up, according to their
usual practice, in search of treasure buried with the dead.
On the front of the credence-table,* and over the niche

* It has since been pointed out by a writer in The Saturday
Review tbat this credence-table was fashioned with part of a shrine
destined for one of the captive hawks sacred to Horus. [Note to
second edition.]

PHIL^J. 197

which some unskilled but pious hand has decorated with
rude Byzantine carvings, the Greek cross is again con-
spicuous.

The religious history of Philae is so curious that it is a
pity it should not find an historian. It shared with
Abydos and some other places the reputation of being the
burial-place of Osiris. It was called the " Holy Island."
Its very soil was sacred. None might land upon its shores,
or even approach them too nearly, without permission.
To obtain that permission and perform the pilgrimage to
the tomb of the god, was to the pious Egyptian what the
Mecca pilgrimage is to the pious Mussulman of to-day.
The most solemn oath to which he could give utterance
was " By him who sleeps in Philas."

When and how the island first came to be regarded as
the resting-place of the most beloved of the gods does not
appear; but its reputation for sanctity seems to have been
of comparatively modern date. It probably rose into im-
portance as Abydos declined. Herodotus, who is supposed
to have gone as far as Elephantine, made minute inquiry
concerning the river above that point; and he relates that
the cataract was in the occupation of " Ethiopian nomads."
He, however, makes no mention of Philae or its temples.
This omission on the part of one who, wherever he went,
sought the society of the priests and paid particular atten-
tion to the religions observances of the country, shows that
either Herodotus never got so far, or that the island had
not yet become the home of the Osirian mysteries. Four
hundred years later, Diodorus Siculus describes it as the
holiest of holy places; while Strabo, writing about the
same time, relates that Abydos had then dwindled to a
mere village. It seems, possible, therefore, that at some
period subsequent to the time of Herodotus and prior to
that of Diodorus or Strabo, the priests of Isis may have
migrated from Abydos to Philse; in which case there would
have been a formal transfer not only of the relics of Osiris,
but of the sanctity which had attached for ages to their
original resting-place. Nor is the motive for such an
exodus wanting. The ashes of the god were no longer
safe at Abydos. Situated in the midst of a rich corn coun-
try on the righ road to Thebes, no city south of Memphis
lay more exposed to the hazards of war. Cambyses had
already passed that way. Other invaders might follow.

198 A THOUSAND MILES UP TUB NILE.

To seek beyond the frontier that security which might no
longer be found in Egypt, would seem therefore to be the
obvious course of a priestly guild devoted to its trust.
This, of course, is mere conjecture, to be taken for what it
may be worth. The decadence of Abydos coincides, at all
events, with the growth of Phila?: and it is only by help of
some such assumption that one can understand how a new
site should have suddenly arisen to such a height of
holiness.

The earliest temple here, of which only a small propylon
remains, would seem to have been built by the last of the
native Pharaohs (Nectanebo II, B.C. 361) ; but the high
and palmy days of Philae belong to the period of Greek
and Roman rule. It was in the time of the Ptolemies that
the holy island became the seat of the sacred college and
the stronghold of a powerful hierarchy. Visitors from
all parts of Egypt, travelers from distant lands, court func-
tionaries from Alexandria charged with royal gifts, came
annually in crowds to offer their vows at the tomb of the
god. They have cut their names by hundreds all over the
principal temple, just like tourists of to-day. Some of
these antique autographs are written upon and across
those of preceding visitors; while others — palimpsests upon
stone, so to say — having been scratched on the yet un-
sculptured surface of doorway and pylon, are seen to be
older than the hieroglyphic texts which were afterward
carved over them. These inscriptions cover a period of
several centuries, during which time successive Ptolemies
and Caesars continued to endow the island. Rich in lands,
in temples, in the localization of a great national myth, the
sacred college was yet strong enough in a.d. 379 to oppose
a practical insistence to the edict of Theodosius. At a
word from Constantinople the whole land of Egypt was for-
cibly Christianized. Priests were forbidden under pain of
death to perform the sacred rites. Hundreds of temples were
plundered. Forty thousand statues of divinities were de-
stroyed at one fell swoop. Meanwhile, the brotherhood of
Philae, intrenched behind the cataract and the desert, sur-
vived the degradation of their order and the ruin of their
immemorial faith. It is not known with certainty for
how long they continued to transmit their hereditary
privileges; but two of the above-mentioned votive inscrip-
tions show that so late as a.d. 453 the priestly families

PHIL^J. 100

were still in occupation of the island and still celebrating
the mysteries of Osiris and Isis. There even seems reason
for believing that the ancient worship continued to hold
its own till the end of the sixth century, at which time,
according to an inscription at Kalabsheh, of which I shall
have more to say hereafter, Silco, -'King of all the
Ethiopians," himself apparently a Christian, twice invaded
Lower Nubia, where God, he says, gave him the victory,
and the vanquished swore to him " by their idols" to
observe the terms of peace.*

There is nothing in this record to show that the invaders
went beyond Tafa, the ancient Taphis, which is twenty-
seven miles above Phila? ; but it seems reasonable to con-
clude that so long as the old gods yet reigned in any part
of Nubia, the island sacred to Osiris would maintain its
traditional sanctity.

At length, however, there must have come a day when
for the last time the tomb of the god was crowned with
flowers and the " Lamentations of Isis "were recited on
the threshold of the sanctuary. And there must have
come another day when the cross was carried in triumph
up those painted colonnades and the first Christian mass
was chanted in the precints of the heathen. One would
like to know how these changes were brought about ;
whether the old faith died out for want of worshipers, or
was expelled with clamor and violence. But upon this

* In the time of Strabo, the Island of Philae, as has been recently
shown by Professor Revillout in his " Seconde Memoire snr les
Blemmys," was the common property of the Egyptians and Nubians,
or rather of that obscure nation called the Blemmys, who, with the
Nobades and Megabares, were collectively classed at that time as
" Ethiopians." The Blemmys (ancestors of the present Barabras)
were a stalwart and valiant race, powerful enough to treat on equal
terms with the Roman rulers of Egypt. They were devout adorers
of Isis, and it is interesting to learn that in the treaty of Maximin with
this nation, it is expressly provided that, " according to the old law,"
the Blemmys were entitled to take the statue of Isis every year from
the sanctuary of Philae to their own country for a visit of a stated
period. A graffito at Philae, published by Letronne, states that the
writer was at Philae when the image of the goddess was brought
back from one of these periodical excursions, and that he beheld
the arrival of the sacred boats "containing the shrines of the divine
statues." From this it would appear that other images than that of
Isis had been taken to Ethiopia; probably those of Osiris and Horus,
and possibly also that of Hathor, the divine nurse. [Note to second
edition."1

200 4 THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

point history is vague * and the graffiti of the time are
silent. We only know for certain that the old went out
and the new came in ; and that where the resurrected
Osiris was wont to be worshiped according to the most
sacred mysteries of the Egyptian ritual, the resurrected
Christ was now adored after the simple fashion of the
primitive Coptic church.

And now the holy island, near which it was believed no
fish had power to swim or bird to fly and upon whose soil
no pilgrim might set foot without permission, became all
at once the common property of a populous community.
Courts, colonnades, even terraced roofs, were overrun with
little crude brick dwellings. A small basilica was built at
the lower end of the island. The portico of the great
temple was converted into a chapel and dedicated to
St. Stephen. " This good work," says a Greek inscription
traced there by some monkish hand of the period, "was
done by the well-beloved of God, the Abbot-Bishop Theo-
dore." Of this same Theodore, whom another inscription
styles " the very holy father," we know nothing but his
name.

The walls hereabout are full of these fugitive records.
" The cross has conquered and will ever conquer," writes
one anonymous scribe. Others have left simple signatures;
as, for instance: " I, Joseph," in one place and " I, Theo-
dosius of Nubia," in another. Here and there an added
word or two give a more human interest to the autograph.
So, in the pathetic scrawl of one who writes himself
"Johannes, a slave," we seem to read the story of a life
in a single line. These Coptic signatures are all followed
by the sign of the cross.

The foundation of the little basilica, with its apse toward
the east and its two doorways to the west, are still trace-
able. We set a couple of our sailors one day to clear away the
rubbish at the lower end of the nave, and found the font —
a rough-stone basin at the foot of a broken column.

It is not difficult to guess what Phihe must have been like
in the days of Abbot Theodore and his flock. The little ba-
silica, we may be sure, had a cluster of mud domes upon
the roof; and I fancy, somehow, that the abbot and his

* The Emperor Justinian is credited with the mutilation of the
sculptures of the large temple; but the ancient worship was probably
only temporarily supended in his time.

PHILM 201

monks installed themselves in that row of cells on the east
side ot the great colonnade, where the priests of Tsis dwelled
before them. As for the village, it must have been just like
Luxor-swarm, ng with dusky life; noisy with the babble
ot children, the cackling of poultry and the barking of
(logs; sending up thin pillars of blue smoke at noon; echo-
ing to the measured chimes of the prayer-bell at morn and
even; and sleeping at night as soundly as if no ghostlike,
mutilated gods were looking on mournfully in the rnoon-

The gods are avenged now. The creed which dethroned
them is dethroned. Abbot Theodore and his successors,
and the religion they taught, and the simple folk that lis-
tened to their teaching, are gone and forgotten. For the
Church of Christ, which still languishes in Egypt, is ex-
tinct m Nubia. It lingered long; though doubtless in
some such degraded and barbaric form as it wears in Abys-
sinia to this day But it was absorbed by Islamism at last:
and only a ruined convent perched here and there upon
some solitary height, or a few crosses rudely carved on the
walls of a Ptolemaic temple, remain to show that Christian-
ity once passed that way.

The mediaeval history of Philas is almost a blank The
Arabs having invaded Egypt toward the middle of the
seventh century, were long in the land before they began
to cultivate literature; and for more than three hundred
years history is silent. It is not till the tenth century that we
once again catch a fleeting glimpse of Philse. The frontier
is now removed to the head of the cataract. The Holv
Island has ceased to be Christian; ceased to be Nubian-
contains a mosque and garrison, and is the hist fortified
outpost of the Moslems It still retains, and apparently
tv ill continue to retain for some centuries longer, its ancient
Egyptian name. That is to say (P being Is usual con
verted into B) the Pilak of the" lLoglyphic i " "ript s~
becomes m Arabic Belak;* which is much more like the
original than the Phihe of the Creeks.

* These and the following: particulars about the Christians of
Nubia are found in the famous work of Makrizi, an Arab Sstoria?

1 Si n.nt-rentU,ry: w£? qUOtes kl-el>' from Earlier writers See
Burckhardts "Travels in Nubia," 4to, L819, Appendix iii. Although
Belak is distinctly described as an island in the neighborhood of the
cataract, distant four miles from Assuan, Burckhard pe sted a

202 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

The native Christians, meanwhile, would seem to have
relapsed into a state of semi-barbarism. They make per-
petual inroads upon the Arab frontier and suffer perpetual
defeat. Battles are fought; tribute is exacted; treaties are
made and broken. Toward the close of the thirteenth century ,
their king being slain and their churches plundered, they
lose one-fourth of their territory, including all that part
which borders upon Assuan. Those who remain Christians
are also condemned to pay an annual capitation tax, in ad-
dition to the usual tribute of dates, cotton, slaves and
camels. After this we may conclude that they accepted
Islamisin from the Arabs, as they had accepted Osiris from
the Egyptians and Christ from the Komans. As Christians,'
at all events, we hear of them no more; for Christianity in
Nubia perished root and branch, and not a Copt, it is said,
may now be found above the frontier.

Philae was still inhabited in a. d. 1799, when a detach-
ment of Desaix's army under General Beliard took posses-
sion of the island and left an inscription* on the soffit of the
doorway of the great pylon to commemorate the passage of
the cataract. Denon, describing the scene with his usual
vivacity, relates how the natives first defied and then fled
from the French; flinging themselves into the river,
drowning such of their children as were too young to swim
and escaping into the desert. They appear at this time to
have been mere savages — the women ugly and sullen, the men
naked, agile and quarrelsome, and armed not only with
swords and spears, but with matchlock guns, with which
they used to keep up "a brisk and well-directed fire."

Their abandonment of the island probably dates from
this time; for when Burkhardt went up in A. D. 1813, he
found it, as we found it to this day, deserted and solitary.

looking for it among the islets below Mahatta, and believd Phil* to
be the first Nubian town beyond the frontier. The hieroglyphic
alphabet, however, had not then been deciphered. Burckhardt died
at Cairo in 1817, and Champoll ion's discovery was not given to the
world till 1822.

* This inscription, which M. About considers the most interesting
thing in Philae, runs as follows: " A' An VI de la Republique, le 15
Messidor, une Armee Francaise commandee par Bonaparte est de-
scendue a Alexandrie. L'Armee ayant mis, vingt jours apres, les
Mamelouks en f uite aux Pyramides, Desaix, commandant la premiere
division, les a poursuivis au dela des Cataractes, ou il est arrive le 18
Ventose de l'an VII."

PHILJE. 203

One poor old man — if indeed he still lives — is now the one
inhabitant of Philse; and I suspect he only crosses over
from Biggeh in the tourist-season. He calls himself, with
or without authority, the guardian of the island; sleeps in
a nest of rags and straw in a sheltered corner behind the
great temple; and is so wonderfully wizened and bent and
knotted up that nothing of him seems quite alive except
his eyes. We gave him fifty copper paras* for a parting
present when on our way back to Egypt; and he was so
oppressed by the consciousness of wealth that he immedi-
ately buried his treasure and implored us to tell no one
what we had given him.

With the French siege and the flight of the native popu-
lation closes the last chapter of the local history of Philse.
The holy island has done henceforth with wars of creeds
or kings. It disappears from the domain of history and
enters the domain of science. To have contributed to the
discovery of the hieroglyphic alphabet is a high distinction;
and in no sketch of Philas, however slight, should the
obeliskf that furnished Champollion with the name of
Cleopatra be allowed to pass unnoticed. This monument,
second only to the Rosetta stone in point of philological in-
terest, was carried off by Mr. W. Bankes, the discoverer of
the first tablet of Abvdos, and is now in Dorsetshire. Its
empty socket and its fellow obelisk, mutilated and solitary,
remain in situ at the southern extremity of the island.

And now — for we have lingered over long in the portico
— it is time we glanced at the interior of the temple. So
we go in at the central door, beyond which opens some
nine or ten halls and side-chambers leading, as usual, to
the sanctuary. Here all is dark, earthly, oppressive. In
rooms unlighted by the faintest gleam from without, we
find smoke-blackened walls covered with elaborate bas-
reliefs. Mysterious passages, pitch-dark, thread the thick-
ness of the walls and communicate by means of trap-like
openings with vaults below. In the sanctuary lies an over-
thrown altar; while in the corner behind it stands the very
niche in which Strabo must have seen that poor, sacred
hawk of Ethiopia which he describes as " sick and nearly
dead."

* About two-and- sixpence English.
\ See previous note, p. 181.

204 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

But in this temple dedicated not only to Isis, but to the
memory of Osiris and the worship of Horus their son,
there is one chamber which we may be quite sure was
shown neither to Strabo nor Diodorus, nor to any stranger
of alien faith, be his repute or station what it might; a
chamber holy above all others; holier even than the sanc-
tuary— the chamber sacred to Osiris. "We, however, un-
restricted, unforbidden, are free to go where we list; and
our books tell us that this mysterious chamber is some-
where overhead. So, emerging once again into the day-
light, we go up a well-worn staircase leading out upon the
roof.

This roof is an intricate, up-and-down place, and the
room is not easy to find. It lies at the bottom of a little
flight of steps — a small stone cell some twelve feet square,
lighted only from the doorway. The walls are covered
with sculptures representing the shrines,the mummification
and the resurrection of Osiris.* These shrines, containing

* The story of Osiris — the beneficent god, the friend of man, slain
and dismembered by Typhon* buried in a score of graves: sought
by Isis; recovered limb by limb; resuscitated in the flesh; tians-
ferred from earth to reign over the dead in the world of shades — is
one of the most complex of Egyptian legends. Osiris under some
aspects is the Nile. He personifies abstract good, and is entitled
Unnefer, or " The Good Being." He appears as a myth of the solar
year. lie bears a notable likeness to Prometheus and to the Indian
Bacchus.

"Osiris, dit-on, etait autrefois descendu sur la terre. Etre bon
par excellence, il avait adouci les inceurs des hommes par la per-
suasion et la bienfaisance. Mais il avait succombe sous les embuches
de Typhon, son frere, le genie du mal, et pendant que ses deux
soeurs, Isis et Nephthys, recueillaient son corps qui avait ete jete
dans le fleuve, le dieu ressuscitait d'entre les morts et apparaissait a
son fils Horus, qu'il instituait son vengeur. C'est ce sacrifice
qu'il avait autrefois accompli en faveur des hommes qu' Osiris
renouvelle ici eu faveur de Fame degagee de ses liens ter-
restres. Non seulement il devient son guide, mais il s'identifie a
elle; il l'absorbe en son propre sein. C'est lui alors qui, devenu le
defunt lui meme, se soumet a toutes les epreuves que celui-ci doit
subir avant d'etre proclaim' juste; c'est lui qui, a chaque ame qu'il
doit sauver, flechit les gardiens des demeures infernales et combat
les monstres compagnons de la nuit et de la mort; c'est lui enfin qui,
vainqueur des tenebres, avec l'assistance d'Horus, s'assied au tribunal
de la supreme justice et ouvre a l'ame declaree pure les portes
du sejour eternel. L'image de la mort aura ete empruntee au soleil
qui disparait a l'horizon du soir: le soleil resplendissant du matin

P1IILM. 205

some part of bis body, are variously fasbioned. His bead,

for instance, rests on anilometer; bis arm, surmounted by

sera la symbole de cette seconde naissance a une vie qui, cette fois,
ne connaitra pas la mort.

" Osiris est done le principe du bien. . . . Charge de sauver
les nines de la mort definitive, il est l'intermediaire entre l'liomme
et Dieu; il est le type et le sauveur de l'lioinme." — -"Notice des
Monuments a Boulaq" — Aug. Mariette Bey, 1872, pp. 105 et seq.

[It has always been taken for granted by Egyptologists that Osiris
was originally a local god of Abydos, and that Abydos was the cradle
of the Osirian myth. Professor Maspero, however, in some of his
recent lectures at the College de France, has shown that the Osirian
cult took its rise in the Delta; and, in point of fact, Osiris, in cer-
tain ancient inscriptions, is styled the King Osiris, " Lord of
Tattu " (Busiris), and has his name inclosed in a royal oval. Up
to the time of the Graeco-Roman rule the only two cities of
Egypt in which Osiris reigned as the principal god were Busiris and
Mendes.]

" Le centre terrestre du culte d'Osiris, etait clans les cantons nord-
est du Delta, situes entre la branche Sebennytique et la branche
Pelusiaque, conime le centre terrestre du culte de Sit, le frere et le
meurtrier d' Osiris: les deux dieux etaient limitrophes l'un de l'autre,
et des rivalites de voisinage expliquent peut-etre en partie leurs

206 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

a head, is sculptured on a stela, in shape resembling a

high-shouldered bottle, surmounted by one of the head-

querelles. . . . Tous les traits de la tradition Osirienne ne sont
pas egalement anciens: le fond me parait etre d'une antiquity incon-
testable. Osiris y reunit les caracteres des deux divinites qui se
partageaient chaque nome: il est le dieu des vivants et le dieu des
morts en meme temps; le dieu qui nourrit et le dieu qui detruit.
Probablement, les temps oil, saisi de pitie pour les mortels, il leur
ouvrit Faeces de son royaume, avaient ete precedes d'autres temps ou
il etait impitoyable et ne songeait qu'a les aneantir. Je crois trouver
un souvenir de ce role destructeur d'Osiris dans plusieurs passages
des textes des Pyramides, ou Ton promet au mort que Harkhouti
viendra vers lui, 'deliantses liens, brisant ses cliainespourle delivrer
de la ruine; il ne le Ivorera pas d Osiris, si Men qu'il ne mov/rra pan,
mais il sera glorieux dans l'horizon, solide comme le Did dans la
ville de Didou.' L'Osiris farouche et cruel fut absorbe prompte-
ment par l'Osiris doux et bienveillant. L'Osiris qui domine toute la
religion ttgyptienne desle debut, e'est l'Osiris Onnofris, l'Osiris Entre
bon, que les Grecsont connu. Commes ses parents, Sibou et Nouit,
Osiris Onnofris appartient a, la classe des dieux generaux qui ne sont
pas confines en un seul canton, mais qui sont adores par un pays
entier. " See/' Les Hypogees Royaux de Thebes" (Bulletin critiquede
la religion Egyptienne) par Professeur G. Maspero, "Revue de
l'Histoire des Religions," 1888. [Note to second edition.]

" The astronomical and physical elements are too obvious to be
mistaken. Osiris and Isis are the Nile and Egypt. The myth of
Osiris typifies the solar year — the power of Osiris is the sun in the
lower hemisphere, the winter solstice. The birth of Horus typifies
the vernal equinox — the victory of Horus, the summer solstice — the
inundation of the Nile. Typhon is the autumnal equinox."
— ' ' Egypt's Place in Universal History," Bunsen, 1st ed., vol. i, p. 437.

"The Egyptians do not all worship the same gods, excepting Isis
and Osiris." — Herodotus, book ii.

PHIL^l

207

dresses peculiar to the god; his legs and feet lie in a pylon-
shaped mausoleum. Upon another shrine stands the miter-
shaped crown which he wears as judge of the lower world.
Isis and Nephthys keep guard over each shrine. In a
lower frieze we see the mummy of the god laid upon a
bier, with the four so-called canopic jars* ranged under-
neath. A little farther on he lies in state, surrounded by

EESUKKECTION OF OSIEIH.

lotus buds on tall stems, figuratively of growth, or return-
ing life. f Finally, he is depicted lying on a couch; his
limbs reunited; his head, left hand, and left foot upraised,
as in the act of returning to consciousness. Nephthys, in
the guise of a winged genius, fans him with the breath of
life. Isis, with outstretched arms, stands at his feet and
seems to be calling him back to her embraces. The scene
represents, in fact, that supreme moment when Isis pours

*" These vases, made of alabaster, calcarecms stone, porcelain,
terra-cotta, and even wood, were destined to hold the soft part or
viscera of the body, embalmed separately and deposited in them.
They were four in number, and were made in the shape of the four
genii of the Karneter, or Hades, to whom were assigned the four
cardinal points of the compass." Birch's "Guide to the First and
Second Egyptian Rooms," 1874, p. 89. See also Birch's " History of
Ancient Pottery," 1873, p. 23 et seq.

f Thus depicted, he is called "the germinating Osiris." [Xote to
second edition.]

208 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

forth her passionate invocations, and Osiris is resuscitated
by virtue of the songs of the divine sisters.*

Ill-modeled and ill-cut as they are, there is a clownish
naturalness about these little sculptures which lifts them
above the conventional dead level of ordinary Ptolemaic
work. The figures tell their tale intelligbly. Osiris seems
really struggling to rise, and the action of Isis expresses
clearly enough the intention of the artist. Although a
few heads have been mutilated and the surface of the stone
is somewhat degraded, the subjects are by no means in a
bad state of preservation. In the accompanying sketches,
nothing has been done to improve the defective drawing or
repair the broken outlines of the originals. Osiris in one
has lost his foot and in another his face; the hands of Isis
are as shapeless as those of a bran doll; and the naivete of
the treatment verges throughout upon caricature. But
the interest attaching to them is altogether apart from the
way in which they are executed. And now, returning to
the roof, it is pleasant to breathe the fresher air that comes
with sunset — to see the island, in shape like an ancient
Egyptian shield, lying mapped out beneath one's feet.
From here, we look back upon the way we have come, and
forward to the way we are going. Northward lies the cata-
ract— a network of islets with flashes of liver between.
Southward, the broad current comes on in one smooth,
glassy sheet, unbroken by a single rapid. How eagerly we
turn our eyes that way; for yonder lie Abou Simbel and
all the mysterious lands beyond the cataracts! But we
cannot see far, for the river curves away grandly to the
right and vanishes behind a range of granite hills.
A similar chain hems in the opposite bank; while high
above the palm-groves fringing the edge of the shore
stand two ruined convents on two rocky prominences,
like a couple of castles on the Rhine. On the east
bank opposite, a few mud houses and a group of
superb carob trees mark the site of a village, the
greater part of which lies hidden among palms. Behind
this village opens a vast sand valley, like an arm of the sea
from which the waters have retreated. The old channel
along which we rode the other day went plowing that

* See M. P. J. de Horrack's translation of "The Lamentations of
Isis and Nephthys. Records of the Past," vol. ii, p. 117 et seq.

PHILJE. 209

way straight across from Philaj. Last of all, forming the
western side of this fourfold view, we have the island of
Biggeh — rugged, mountainous, and divided from Philae by
so narrow a channel that every sound from the native vil-
lage on the opposite steep is as audidle is though it came
from the court-yard at our feet. That village is built in
and about the ruins of a tiny Ptolemaic temple, of which
only a screen and doorway and part of a small propylon
remain. We can see a woman pounding coffee on the
threshold of one of the huts, and some children scrambling
about the rocks in pursuit of a wandering turkey. Catch-
ing sight of us up here on the roof of the temple, they
come whooping and scampering down to the water side
and with shrill cries importune us for backshish. Unless
the stream is wider than it looks one might almost pitch
a piaster into their outstretched hands.

Mr. Hay, it is said, discovered a secret passage of solid
masonry tunneled under the river from island to island.
The entrance on this side was from a shaft in the Temple of
Isis.* We are not told how far Mr. Hay was able to pene-
trate in the direction of Biggeh ; but the passage would
lead up, most probably, to the little temple opposite.

Perhaps the most entirely curious and unaccustomed
features in all this scene are the mountains. They are
like none that any of us have seen in our diverse wander-
ings. Other mountains are homogeneous and thrust
themselves up from below in masses suggestive of primitive
disruption and upheaval. These seem to lie upon the sur-
face foundationless; rock loosely piled on rock, bowlder on
bowlder; like stupendous cairns, the work of demigods
and giants. Here and there, on shelf or summit, a huge
rounded mass, many tons in weight, hangs poised capri-
ciously. Most of these blocks, I am persuaded, would
" log" if put to the test.

But for a specimen stone commend me to yonder amaz-
ing monolith down by the water's edge opposite, near the
carob trees and the ferry. Though but a single block of
orange-red granite, it looks like three; and the Arabs, see-
ing it in some fancied resemblance to an arm-chair, call it
Pharaoh's throne. Rounded and polished by primeval

*" Operations Carried On at the Pyramids of Ghizeh," — Col.
Howard "Vyse, London, 1840, vol. i, p. 63.

210 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

iloods and emblazoned with royal cartouches of extraordi-
nary size, it seems to have attracted the attention of pil-
grims in all ages. Kings, conquerors, priests, travelers,
have covered it with records of victories, of religious festi-
vals, of prayers, and offerings, and acts of adoration. Some
of these are older by a thousand years and more than the
temples on the island oj)posite.

Such, roughly summed up, are the fourfold surround-
ings of Philae — the cataract, the river, the desert, the
environing mountains. The Holy Island — beautiful, life-
less, a thing of the far past, with all its wealth of sculpture,
painting, history, poetry, tradition — sleeps, or seems to
sleep, in the midst.

It is one of the world's famous landscapes, and it
deserves its fame. Every sketcher sketches it; every trav-
eler describes it. Yet it is just one of those places of
which the objective and subjective features are so equally
balanced that it bears putting neither into words nor
colors. The sketcher must perforce leave out the atmos-
phere of association which informs his subject ; and the
writer's description is at best no better than a catalogue
raisounee.

PIILLjE TO KOR08KO. 211

CHAPTER XIII.

PHIL.E TO KOKOSKO.

Sailing gently southward — the river opening wide
before us, Philfe dwindling in the rear — we feel that we
are now fairly over the border; and that if Egypt was
strange and far from home, Nubia is stranger and farther
still. The Nile here flows deep and broad. The rocky
heights that hem it in so close on either side are still black
on the one hand, golden on the other. The banks are
narrower than ever. The space in some places is little
wider than a towing-path. In others, there is barely
room for a belt of date-palms and a slip of alluvial soil,
every foot of which produces its precious growth of durra
or barley. The steep verge below is green with lentils to
the water's edge. As the river recedes, it leaves each day
a margin of fresh, wet soil, in which the careful husband-
man hastens to scratch a new furrow and sow another line
of seeds. He cannot afford to let so much as an inch of
that kindly mud lie idle.

Gliding along with half-filled sail, we observe how
entirely the population seems to be regulated by the extent
of arable soil. Where the inundation has room to spread,
villages come thicker; more dusky figures are seen moving
to and fro in the shade of the palms; more children race
along the banks, shrieking for backshish. When the shelf
of soil is narrowed, on the contrary, to a mere fringe of
luminous green dividing the rock from the river, there is
a startling absence of everything like life. Mile after mile
drags its slow length along, uncheered by any sign of
human habitation. When now and then a solitary native.
armed with gun or spear, is seen striding along the edge of
the desert, he only seems to make the general solitude
more apparent.

Meanwhile, it is not only men and women whom we miss
— men laboring by the river side; women with babies

212 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

astride on their shoulders, or water-jars balanced on their
heads — but birds, beasts, boats; everything that we have
been used to see along the river. The buffaloes dozing at
midday in the shallows, the camels stalking home in single
file toward sunset, the water-fowl haunting the sand-banks,
seem suddenly to have vanished. Even donkeys are now
rare; and as for horses, I do not remember to have seen one
during the seven weeks we spent in Nubia. All night, too,
instead of the usual chorus of dogs barking furiously from
village to village, we hear only the long-drawn wail of an
occasional jackal. It is not wonderful, however, that
animal life should be scarce in a district where the scant
soil yields barely food enough for those who till it. To
realize how very scant it is, one needs only to remember
that about Derr, where it is at its widest, the annual
deposit nowhere exceeds half a mile in breadth; while for
the most part of the way between Philse and Wady Halfeh
— a distance of two hundred and ten miles — it averages
from six to sixty yards.

Here, then, more than ever, one seems to see how
entirely these lands which we call Egypt and Nubia are
nothing but the banks of one solitary river in the midst of
a world of desert. In Egypt, the valley is often so wide
that one forgets the stony waste beyond the corn-lands.
But in Nubia the desert is ever present. AVe cannot
forget it, if we would. The barren mountains press upon
our path, showering down avalanches of granite on the
one side and torrents of yellow sand on the other. We
know that those stones are always falling; that those sands
are always drifting; that the river has hard work to hold
its own; and that the desert is silently encroaching day by
day.

These golden sand-streams are the newest and most
beautiful features in the landscape. They pour down from
the high level of the Libyan desert just as the snows of
Switzerland pour down from the upper plateaux of the
Alps. Through every ravine and gap they find a channel
— here trickling in tiny rivulets; flowing yonder in broad
torrents that widen to the river.

Becalmed a few miles above Philse, we found ourselves
at the foot of one of these largest drifts. The M. B.'s
challenged us to climb the slope and see the sunset from
the desert. It was about six o'clock, and the thermometer

PIIIL^J TO KOBOSKO. 213

was standing at 80° in the coolest corner of the large
saloon. We ventured to suggest that the top was a long
way up ; but the M. B.'s would take no refusal. So
away we went; panting, breathless, bewailing our hard

fate. L and the writer had done some difficult walking

in their time, over ice and snow, on lava cold and hot, up
cinder-slopes and beds of mountain torrents ; hut this
innocent-looking sand-drift proved quite as hard to climb
as any of them. The sand lies wonderfully loose and
light, and is as hot as if it had been baked in an oven.
Into this the foot plunges ankle-deep, slipping back at
every step, and leaving a huge hole into which the sand
pours down again like water. Looking back, you trace
your course by a succession of funnel-shaped pits, each
larger than a wash-hand basin. Though your slipper be
as small as Cinderella's, the next comer shall not be able
to tell whether it was a lady who went up last, or a camel.
It is toilsome work, too; for the foot finds neither rest nor
resistance, and the strain upon the muscles is unremitting.

But the beauty of the sand more than repays the fatigue
of climbing it. Smooth, sheeny, satiny; fine as diamond-
dust; supple, undulating, luminous, it lies in the most
exquisite curves and wreaths, like a snow-drift turned to
gold. Remodeled by every breath that blows, its ever-
varying surface presents an endless play of delicate lights
and shadows. There lives not the sculptor who could
render those curves; and I doubt whether Turner himself,
in his tenderest and subtlest mood, could have done
justice to those complex grays and ambers.

Having paused to rest upon an out-cropping ledge of
rock about half-way up, we came at length to the top of
the last slope and found ourselves on the level of the desert.
Here, faithful to the course of the river, the first objects to
meet our eyes were the old familiar telegraph posts and
wires. Beyond them, to north and south, a crowd of
peaks closed in the view; but westward, a rolling waste of
hillock and hollow opened away to where the sun, a crim-
son globe, had already half-vanished below the rim of the
world.

One could not resist going a few steps farther, just to
touch the nearest of those telegraph posts. It was like
reaching out a hand toward home.

When the sun dropped we turned back. The valley

214 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

below was already steeped in dusk. The Nile, glimmering
like a coiled snake in the shade, reflected the evening sky
in three separate reaches. On the Arabian side a far- oil
mountain-chain stood out, purple and jagged, against the
eastern horizon.

To come down was easy. Driving our heels well into
the sand, we half ran, half glissaded, and soon reached the
bottom. Here we were met by an old Nubian woman,
who had trudged up in all haste from the nearest village
to question our sailors about one Yusef, her son, of whom
she had heard nothing for nearly a year. She was a very
poor old woman — a widow — and this Yusef was her only
son. Hoping to better himself he had worked his passage
to Cairo in a cargo-boat some eighteen months ago. Twice
since then he had sent her messages and money; but now
eleven months had gone by in silence, and she feared he
must be dead. Meanwhile her date-palm, taxed to the
full value of its produce, had this year yielded not a
piaster of profit. Her mud hut had fallen in, and there
was no Yusef to repair it. Old and sick, she now could
only beg ; and her neighbors, by whose charity she sub-
sisted, were but a shade less poor than herself.

Our men knew nothing of the missing Yusef. Rei's
Hassan promised when he went back to make inquiries
among the boatmen of Boulak. "But then," he added,
"there are so many Yusefs in Cairo!"

It made one's heart ache to see the tremulous eagerness
with which the poor soul put her questions, and the
crushed look in her face when she turned away.

And now, being fortunate in respect of the wind, which
for the most part blows steadily from the north between
sunrise and sunset, we make good progress, and for the
next ten days live pretty much on board our dahabeeyah.
The main features of the landscape go on repeating them-
selves with but little variation from day to day. The
mountains wear their habitual livery of black and gold.
The river, now widening, now narrowing, flows between
banks blossoming with lentils and lupins. With these,
and yellow acacia-tufts, and blue castor-oil berries, and the
weird coloquintida, with its downy leaf and milky juice
and puff bladder fruit, like a green peach tinged with
purple, we make our daily bouquet for the dinner-table.
All other flowers have vanished, and even these are hard to

PHILJE TO KOROSKO. 215

get in a land where every green blade is precious to the
grower.

Now, too, the climate becomes sensibly warmer. The
heat of the sun is so great at midday that, even with the
north breeze blowing, we can no longer sit on deck between
twelve and three. Toward sundown, when the wind
drops, it turns so sultry that to take a walk on shore
comes to be regarded as a duty rather than as a pleasure.
Thanks, however, to that indomitable painter who is
always ready for an afternoon excursion, we do sometimes
walk for an hour before dinner; striking off generally into
the desert ; looking for onyxes and carnelians among the
pebbles that here and there strew the surface of the sand,
and watching in vain for jackals and desert-hares.

Sometimes we follow the banks instead of the desert,
coming now and then to a creaking sakkieh turned by a
melancholy buffalo ; or to a native village hidden behind
dwarf-palms. Here each hut has its tiny forecourt, in the
midst of which stand the mud oven and mud cupboard of
the family — two dumpy cones of smooth gray clay, like
big chimney-pots — the one capped with a lid, the other
fitted with a little wooden door and wooden bolt. Some of
the houses have a barbaric ornament palmed off, so to say,
upon the walls; the pattern being simply the impression of
a human hand dipped in red or yellow ocher and applied
while the surface is moist.

The amount of " bazaar" that takes place whenever we
enter one of these villages is quite alarming. The dogs
first give notice of our approach ; and presently we
are surrounded by all the women and girls of the place,
offering live pigeons, eggs, vegetable marrows, necklaces,
nose-rings and silver bracelets for sale. The boys pester us
to buy wretched, half-dead chameleons. The men stand
aloof, and leave the bargaining to the women.

And the women not only know how to bargain, but how
to assess the relative value of every coin that passes current
on the Nile. Rupees, roubles, reyals, dollars and shillings
are as intelligible to them as paras or piasters. Sovereigns
are not too heavy nor napoleons too light for them. The
times are changed since Belzoni's Nubian, after staring
contemptuously at the first piece of money he had ever
seen, asked: "Who would give anything for that small
piece of metal?"

210 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

The necklaces consist of onyx, carnelian, bone, silver,
and colored glass beads, with now and then a stray scarab
or amulet in the ancient blue porcelian. The arrangement
of color is often very subtle. The brow-pendants in gold
repoussee, and the massive old silver bracelets, rough with
knobs and bosses, are most interesting in design, and per-
petuate patterns of undoubted antiquity. The M. B.'s
picked up one really beautiful collarette of silver and coral,
which might have been worn three thousand years ago by
Pharaoh's daughter.

When on board, we begin now to keep a sharp lookout
for crocodiles. "We hear of them constantly — see their
tracks upon the sand-banks in the river — go through
agonies of expectation over every black speck in the dis-
tance; yet are perpetually disappointed. The farther south
we go the more impatient we become. The E's, whose
dahabeeyah, homeward-bound, drifts slowly past one calm
morning, report "eleven beauties," seen altogether yester-
day upon a sand island, some ten miles higher up. Mr.
C. B.'s boat, garlanded with crocodiles from stem to stern,
tills us with envy. We would give our ears (almost) to see
one of these engaging reptiles dangling from either our
own mainmast or that cf the faithful Bagstones. Alfred,
who has set his heart on bagging at least half a dozen, says
nothing, but grows gloomier day by day. At night, when
the moon is up and less misanthropic folk are in bed and
asleep, he rambles moodily into the desert, after jackals.

Meanwhile, on we go, starting at sunrise; mooring at
sunset; sailing, tracking, punting; never stopping for an
hour by day, if we can help it; and pushing straight for
Abou Simbel with as little delay as possible. Thus we pass
the pylons of Dabod with their background of desert;
Gertassee, a miniature Suniuin, seen toward evening
against the glowing sunset; Tafah, rich in palms, with
white columns gleaming through green foliage by the
water side; the cliffs, islands, and rapids of Kalabsheh,
and the huge temple which rises like a fortress in their
midst; Dendur, a tiny chapel with a single pylon; and
Gerf Hossayn, which from this distance might be taken
for the mouth of a rock-cut tomb in the face of the preci-
pice. About half way between Kalabsheh and Dendur, we
enter the tropic of cancer. From this day till the day
when we repass that invisible boundary, there is a marked

PIIILJE TO KOROSKO. 217

change in the atmospheric conditions under which we live.
The days get gradually hotter, especially at noon, when the
sun is almost vertical; but the freshness of night and the
chill of early morning are no more. Unless when a strong
wind blows from the north, we no longer know what it is
to need a shawl on deck in the evening; or an extra cover-
ing on our beds toward dawn. We sleep with our cabin-
windows open, and enjoy a delicious equality of tempera-
ture from sundown to sunrise. The days and nights, too,
are of almost equal length.

Now, also, the southern cross and a second group of
stars, which we conclude must form part of the Centaur,
are visible between two and four every morning. They
have been creeping up, a star at a time, for the last fort-
night; but are still so low upon the eastern horizon that
we can only see them when there comes a break in the
mountain-chain on that side of the river. At the same
time, our old familiar friends of the northern hemisphere,
looking strangely distorted and decidedly out of their
proper place, are fast disappearing on the opposite side of
the heavens. Orion seems to be lying on his back, and
the Great Bear to be standing on his tail; while Cassiopeia
and a number of others have deserted en masse. The
zenith, meanwhile, is but thinly furnished; so that we
seem to have traveled away from the one hemisphere and
not yet to have reached the other. As for the Southern
Cross, we reserve our opinion till we get farther south. It
would be treason to hint that we are disappointed in so
famous a constellation.

After Gerf Hossayn, the next place of importance for
which our maps bid us lookout, is Dakkeh. As we draw
near, expecting hourly to see something of the temple, the
Nile increases in breadth and beauty. It is a peaceful,
glassy morning. The men have been tracking since
dawn, and stop to breakfast at the foot of a sandy bank,
wooded with tamarisks and gum-trees. A glistening net-
work of gossamer floats from bough to bough. The sky
overhead is of a tender, luminous blue, such as we never
see in Europe. The air is wonderfully still. The river,
which here takes a sudden bend toward the east, looks like
a lake and seems to be barred ahead by the desert. Pres-
ently a funeral passes along the opposite bank; the chief
mourner nourishing a long staff, like a drum-major; the

218 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

women snatching up handfuls of dust and scattering it

upon their heads. We hear their wild wail long after the
procession is out of sight.

Going on again presently, our whole attention becomes
absorbed by the new and singular geological features of the
Libyan desert. A vast plain covered with isolated mount-
ains of volcanic structure, it looks like some strange
transformation of the Puy de Dome plateau, with all
its wind-swept pastures turned to sand and its grassy
craters stripped to barrenness. The more this plain
widens out before our eyes, the more it bristles with peaks.
As we round the corner, and Dakkeh, like a smaller Edfu,
comes into sight upon the western bank, the whole desert
on that side, as far as the eve can see, presents the unmis-
takable aspect of one vast field of volcanoes. As in Au-
vergne, these cones are of all sizes and heights; some low
and rounded, like mere bubbles that have cooled without
bursting; others ranging apparently from one thousand to
fifteen hundred feet in height. The broken craters of sev-
eral are plainly distinguishable by the help of a field-glass.
One in particular is so like our old friend the Puy de Pa-
riou that in a mere black-and-white sketch the one might
readily be mistaken for the other.

We were surprised to find no account of the geology of
this district in any of our books. Murray and Wilkinson
pass it in silence; and writers of travels — one or two of
whom notice only the "pyramidal " shape of the hills —
are for the most part content to do likewise. None seem
to have observed their obvious volcanic origin.

Thanks to a light breeze that sprang up in the afternoon,
we were able to hoist our big sail again and to relieve the
men from tracking. Thus we glided past the ruins of Ma-
harrakeh, which, seen from the river, looked like a Greek
portico set in a hollow waste of burning desert. Next
came Wady Sabooah, a temple half-buried in sand, near
which we met a tiny dahabeeyah, manned by two Nubians
and flying the star and crescent. A shabby government
inspector, in European dress and a fez, lay smoking on a
mat outside his cabin door ; while from a spar overhead
there hung a mighty crocodile. The monster was of a
greenish-brown color and measured at least sixteen feet
from head to tail. His jaws yawned; and one flat and
flabby arm and ponderous paw swung with the motion of
the boat, looking horribly human.

PI1ILM TO KOROSKO- 210

The painter, with an eye to foregrounds, made a bid for
him on the spot; but the shabby inspector was not to be
moved by considerations of gain. He preferred his croco-
dile to infidel gold, and scarcely deigned even to reply to
the offer.

Seen in the half-light of a tropical after-glow — the pur-
ple mountains coming down in detached masses to the
water's edge on the one side; the desert with its volcanic
peaks yet rosy upon the other — we thought the approach
to Korosko more picturesque than anything we had yet
seen south of the cataract. As the dusk deepened the
moon rose ; and the palms that had just room to grow
between the mountains and the river turned from bronze
to silver. It was half-twilight, half-moonlight, by the
time we reached the mooring-place where Talhamy, who
had been sent forward in the small boat half an hour ago,
jumped on board laden with a packet of letters and a sheaf
of newspapers. For here, where the great caravan-route
leads off across the desert to Khartum, we touched the
first Nubian postoffice. It was only ten days since we had
received our last budget at Assfian; but it seemed like ten
weeks.

220 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER XIV.

KOROSKO TO ABOU SIMBEL.

It so happened that we arrived at Korosko on the eve of
El-Id el-Kebir, or the anniversary of the sacrifice of Abra-
ham ; when, according to the Moslem version, Ishmael
was the intended victim and a ram the substituted offering.
Now El-Id el-Kebir, being one of the great feasts of the
Mohammedan calendar, is a day of gifts and good wishes.
The rich visit their friends and distribute meat to the
poor; and every true believer goes to the mosque to say his
prayers in the morning. So, instead of starting as usual at
sunrise, we treated our sailors to a sheep and waited till
past noon, that they might have a holiday.

They began the day by trooping off to the village mosque
in all the glory of new blue blouses, spotless turbans and
scarlet leather slippers; then loitered about till dinner-
time, when the said sheep, stewed with lentils and garlic,
brought the festivities to an end. It was a thin and
ancient beast and must have been horribly tough; but an
epicure might have envied the childlike enjoyment with
which our honest fellows squatted, cross-legged and happy,
round the smoking cauldron ; chattering, laughing, feast-
ing; dipping their fingers in the common mess; washing
the whole down with long draughts of Nile water; and
finishing off with a hubble-bubble passed from lip to lip
and a mouthful of muddy coffee. By a little after midday
they had put off their finery, harnessed themselves to the
tow-rope and set to work to haul us through the rocky
shoals which here impede the current.

From Korosko to Derr, the actual distance is about
eleven miles and a half; but what with obstructions in the
bed of the river, and what with a wind that would have
been favorable but for another great bend which the Nile
takes toward the east, those eleven miles and a half cost us
the best part of two days' hard tracking.

KOBOSKO TO ABOV SIMBEL. 221

Landing from time to time when the boat was close in
shore, we found the order of planting everywhere the
same, lupins and lentils on the slope against the water-
line; an uninterrupted grove of palms on the edge of the
bank; in the space beyond, fields of cotton and young
corn; and then the desert. The arable soil was divided
off, as usual, by hundreds of water channels, and seemed
to be excellently farmed as well as abundantly irrigated.
Not a weed was to be seen; not an inch of soil appeared to
be wasted. In odd corners where there was room for
nothing else, cucumbers and vegetable-marrows flourished
and bore fruit. Nowhere had we seen castor-berries so
large, cotton-pods so full, or palms so lofty.

Here also, for the first time out of Egypt, we observed
among the bushes a few hoopoes and other small birds;
and on a sand-slope down by the river a group of wild
ducks. We — that is to say, one of the M. B.'s and the
writer — had wandered off that way in search of crocodiles.
The two dahabeeyahs, each with its file of trackers, were
slowly laboring up against the current about a mile away.
All was intensely hot and intensely silent. We had
walked far and had seen no crocodile. What we should
have done if we had met one I am not prepared to say.
Perhaps we should have run away. At all events, we were
just about to turn back when we caught sight of the ducks
sunning themselves, half asleep, on the brink of a tiny
pool about an eighth of a mile away.

Creeping cautiously under the bank, we contrived to get
within a few yards of them. They were four — a drake, a
duck, and two young ones — exquisitely feathered and as
small as teal. The parent-birds could scarcely have
measured more than eight inches from head to tail. All
alike had chestnut-colored heads with a narrow buff stripe
down the middle, like a parting ; maroon backs ; wing-
feathers maroon and gray; and tails tipped with buff.
They were so pretty, and the little family party was so
complete, that the writer could not help secretly rejoicing
that Alfred and his gun were safe on board the Bagstones.

High above the Libyan bank on the sloping verge of the
desert, stands, half-drowned in sand, the little temple of
Amada. Seeing it from the opposite side while duck-
hunting in the morning, I had taken it for one of the
many stone shelters erected by Mohammed Ali for the

222 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

accommodation of cattle levied annually in the Soudan. It
proved, however, to be a temple, small but massive; built
with squared blocks of sandstone; and dating back to the
very old times of the Usurtesens and Thothmes. It con-
sists of a portico, a transverse atrium, and three small
chambers. The pillars of the portico are mere square
piers. The rooms are small and low. The roof, con-
structed of oblong blocks, is flat from end to end. As an
architectural structure it is in fact but a few degrees
removed from Stonehenge.

A shed without, this little temple is, however, a cameo
within. Nowhere, save in the tomb of Ti, had we seen
bas-reliefs so delicately modeled, so rich in color. Here,
as elsewhere, the walls are covered with groups of kings
and gods and hieroglyphic texts. The figures are slender
and animated. The head-dresses, jewelry, and patterned
robes are elaborately drawn and painted. Every head
looks like a portrait; every hieroglyphic form is a study in
miniature.

Apart from its exquisite finish, the wall-sculpture of
Amada has, however, nothing. in common with the wall-
sculpture of the ancient empire. It belongs to the period
of Egyptian renaissance; and, though inferior in power
and naturalness to the work of the elder school, it marks
just that moment of special development when the art of
modeling in low relief had touched the highest level to
which it ever again attained. That highest level belongs
to the reigns of Thothmes II and Thothmes III;
just as the perfect era in architecture belongs to the
reigns of Seti I and Barneses II. It is for this reason
that Amada is so precious. It registers an epoch in
the history of the art, and gives us the best of
that epoch in the hour of its zenith. The sculptor
is here seen to be working within bounds already pre-
scribed; yet within those bounds he still enjoys a certain
liberty. His art, though largely conventionalized, is not
yet stereotyped. His sense of beauty still finds expression.
There is, in short, a grace and sweetness about the bas-
relief designs of Amada for which one looks in vain to the
storied walls of Karnak.

The chambers are half-choked with sand and we had to
crawl into the sanctuary upon our hands and knees. A
long inscription at the upper end records how Amenhotep

KOROSKO TO ABOU S1MBEL. 223

II, returning from his first campaign against the Ruten,
slew seven kings with his own hand ; six of whom were
gibbeted upon the ramparts of Thebes, while the body of
the seventh was sent to Ethiopia by water and suspended
on the outer wall of the city of Napata,* "in order that
the negroes might behold the victories of the Pharaoh in
all the lands of the world."

In the darkest corner of the atrium we observed a curi-
ous tableau representing the king embraced by a goddess.
He holds a short, straight sword in his right hand and the
crux ansata in his left. On his head he wears the khe-
persh, or war-helmet; a kind of a blue miter studded with
gold stars and ornamented with the royal asp. The god-
dess clasps him lovingly about the neck and bends her lips
to his. The artist has given her the yellow complexion
conventionally ascribed to women ; but her saucy mouth
and nez retrousse are distinctly European. Dressed in
the fashion of the nineteenth century, she might have
served Leech as a model for his girl of the period.

The sand has drifted so high at the back of the temple
that one steps upon the roof as upon a terrace only just
raised above the level of the desert. Soon that level will
be equal; and if nothing is done to rescue it within the
next generation or two, the whole building will become
engulfed and its very site be forgotten.

The view from the roof, looking back toward Korosko
and forward toward Derr, is one of the finest — perhaps
quite the finest — in Nubia. The Nile curves grandly
through the foreground. The palm-woods of Derr are
green in the distance. The mountain region which we
have just traversed ranges a vast crescent of multitudinous
peaks, round two-thirds of the horizon. Ridge beyond
ridge, chain beyond chain, flushing crimson in light and
deepening through every tint of amethyst and purple in
shadow, those innumerable summits fade into tenderest
blue upon the horizon. As the sun sets they seem to
glow; to become incandescent; to be touched with flame —
as in the old time when every crater was a font of fire.

* A city of Ethiopia, identified with the ruins at Gebel Barkel.
The worship of Amen was established at Napata toward the end of
the twentieth dynasty, and it was from the priests of Thebes who
settled at that time in Napata that the Ethiopian conquerors of
Egypt (twenty-third dynasty) were descended.

224 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Struggling next morning through a maze of sand-banks,
we reached Derr soon after breakfast. This town — the
Nubian capital — lies a little lower than the level of the
bank, so that only a few mud walls are visible from the
river. Having learned by this time that a capital town is
but a bigger village, containing perhaps a mosque and a
market-place, we were not disappointed by the unimposing
aspect of the Nubian metropolis.

Great, however, was our surprise when, instead of the
usual clamorous crowd screaming, pushing, scrambling and
bothering for backshish, we found the landing-place
deserted. Two or three native boats lay up under the
bank, empty. There was literally not a soul in sight.
L and the little lady, eager to buy some of the basket-
work for which the place is famous, looked blank. Tal-
hamy, anxious to lay in a store of fresh eggs and vegetables,
looked blanker.

We landed. Before us lay an open space, at the farther
end of which, facing the river, stood the governor's palace;
the said palace being a magnified mud hut, with a frieze
of baked bricks round the top and an imposing stone door-
way. In this doorway, according to immemorial usage,
the great man gives audience. We saw him — a mere
youth, apparently — puffing away at a long chibouque, in
the midst of a little group of graybeard elders. They
looked at us gravely, immovably; like smoking automata.
One longed to go up and ask them if they were all trans-
formed to black granite from the waists to the feet and if
the inhabitants of Derr had been changed into blue stones.

Still bent on buying baskets, if baskets were to be
bought — bent also on rinding out the whereabouts of a cer-
tain rock-cut temple which our books told us to look for
at the back of the town, we turned aside into a straggling-
street leading toward the desert. The houses looked
better built than usual ; some pains having evidently been
bestowed in smoothing the surface of the mud and orna-
menting the doorways with fragments of colored pottery.
A cracked willow-pattern dinner-plate set, like a fanlight,
over one, and a white soup-plate over another, came doubt-
less from the canteen of some English dahabeeyah, and
were the pride of their possessors. Looking from end to
end of this street — and it was a tolerably long one, with
the Nile at one end and the desert at the other — we saw no

KOROSKO TO ABOU S1MBEL. 225

sign or shadow of moving creature. Only one young
woman, hearing strange voices talking a strange tongue,
peeped out suddenly from a half-opened door as we went
by ; then, seeing me look at the baby in her arms (which
was hideous and had sore eyes), drew her veil across its
face and darted back again. She thought I coveted her
treasure and she dreaded the Evil Eye.

All at once we heard a sound like the far-off quivering
cry of many owls. It shrilled — swelled — wavered — dropped
— then died away, like the moaning of the wind tit sea.
We held our breath and listened. We had never heard
anything so wild and plaintive. Then suddenly, through
an opening between the houses, we saw a great crowd on a
space of rising ground about a quarter of a mile away.
This crowd consisted of men only — a close, turbaned mass
some three or four hundred in number ; all standing quite
still and silent; all looking in the same direction.

Hurrying on to the desert we saw the strange sight at
which they were looking.

The scene was a barren sand-slope hemmed in between
the town and the cliffs and dotted over with graves. The
actors were all women. Huddled together under a long
wall some few hundred yards away, bareheaded and
exposed to the blaze of the morning sun, they out-
numbered the men by a full third. Some were sitting,
some standing ; while in their midst, pressing round a
young woman who seemed to act as leader, there swayed
and circled and shuffled a compact phalanx of dancers.
Upon this young woman the eyes of all were turned. A
black Cassandra, she rocked her body from side to side,
clapped her hands above her head and poured forth a
wild declamatory chant which the rest echoed. This
chant seemed to be divided into strophes, at the end of
each of which she paused, beat her breast, and broke into
that terrible wail that we had heard just now from a
distance.

Her brother, it seemed, had died last night; and we were
witnessing his funeral.

The actual interment was over by the time we reached
the spot ; but four men were still busy filling the grave
with sand, which they scraped up, a bowlful at a time,
ami stamped down with their naked feet.

The deceased being unmarried, his sister led the choir

226 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

of mourners. She was a tall, gaunt young woman 'of the
plainest Nubian type, with high cheek-bones, eyes slanting
upward at the corners, and an enormous mouth full of
glittering teeth. On her head she wore a white cloth
smeared with dust. Her companions were distinguished
by a narrow white fillet, bound about the brow and tied
with two long ends behind. They had hidden their neck-
laces and bracelets and wore trailing robes and shawls
and loose trousers of black or blue calico.

We stood for a long time watching their uncouth dance.
None of the women seemed to notice us; but the men made
way civilly and gravely, letting us pass to the front, that we
might get a better view of the ceremony.

By and by an old woman rose slowly from the midst of
those who were sitting and moved with tottering, uncertain
steps toward a higher point of ground, a little apart from
the crowd. There was. a movement of compassion among
the men ; one of whom turned to the writer and said,
gently: " His mother."

She was a small, feeble old woman, very poorly clad.
Her hands and arms were like the hands and arms of a
mum my, and her withered black face looked ghastly under
its mask of dust. For a few moments, swaying her body
slowly to and fro, she watched the grave-diggers stamping
down the sand ; then stretched out her arms and broke
into a torrent of lamentations. The dialect of Deri* is
strange and barbarous ; but we felt as if we understood
every word she uttered. Presently the tears began to
make channels down her cheeks — her voice became choked
with sobs — and, falling down in a sort of helpless heap,
like a broken-hearted dog, she lay with her face to the
ground, and there stayed.

Meanwhile, the sand being now filled in and mounded up,
the men betook themselves to a place where the rock had
given way and selected a couple of big stones from the
debris. These they placed at the head and foot of the
grave and all was done.

Instantly — perhaps at an appointed signal, though we
saw none given — the wailing ceased; the women rose; every
tongue was loosened; and the whole became a moving,

* The men hereabout can nearly all speak Arabic; but the women
of Nubia know only the Kensee and Berberee tongues, the first of
which is spoken as far as Korosko,

KOROSKO TO ABOU SIMBEL. 22?

animated, noisy throng dispersing in a dozen different
directions.

We turned away with the rest, the writer and the painter
rambling off in search of the temple, while the other three
devoted themselves to the pursuit of baskets and native
jewelry. When we looked back presently the crowd was
gone ; but the desolate mother still lay motionless in the
dust.

It chanced that we witnessed many funerals in Nubia;
so many that one sometimes felt inclined to doubt whether
the governor of Assuan had not reported over-favorably of
the health of the province. The ceremonial, with its
dancing and chanting, was always much the same; always
barbaric, and in the highest degree artificial. One
would like to know how much of it is derived
from purely African sources, and how much from ancient
Egyptian tradition. The dance is most probably Ethio-
pian. Lepsius, traveling through the Soudan in A. d. 1844,*
saw something of the kind at a funeral in Wed Medi-
neh, about half-way between Sennaar and Khartum. The
white fillet worn by the choir of mourners is, on the other
hand, distinctly Egyptian. We afterward saw it repre-
sented in paintings of funeral processions on the walls of
several tombs at Thebes, f where the wailing women are
seen to be gathering up the dust in their hands and casting
it upon their heads, just as they do now. As for the wail
— beginning high and descending through a scale divided
not by semi-tones but thirds of tones to a final note about
an octave and a half lower than that from which it started
— it probably echoes to this day the very pitch and rhythm
of the wail that followed the Pharaohs to their sepulchers in
the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. Like the zaghareet,
or joy-cry, which every mother teaches to her little
girls and which, it is said, can only be acquired in very early
youth, it has been handed down from generation to genera-
tion through an untold succession of ages, The song to
which the fellah works his shaduf and the monotonous

* Lepsius1 Letters from Egypt, Ethiopia, etc. Letter xviii, p. 184.
Bolin's ed., A. D. 1853.

f See the interesting account of funereal rites and ceremonies in
Sir GL Wilkinson's "Ancient Egyptians," vol. ii, cli. x, Lond., 1871.
Also wood-cuts Nos. 493 and 494 in tlie same chapter of the same
work.

228 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

chant of the sakkieh-d river have, perhaps, as remote an
origin. But of all old, mournful, human sounds, the
death-wail that we heard at Derr is perhaps one of the
very oldest — certainly the most mournful.

The temple here, dating from the reign of Rameses II,
is- of rude design and indifferent execution. Partly con-
structed, partly excavated, it is approached by a forecourt,
the roof of which was supported by eight square columns.
Of these columns only the bases remain. Four massive
piers, against which once stood four colossi, upheld the
roof of the portico and gave admission by three entrances
to the rock-cut chambers beyond. The portico is now
roofless. Nothing is left of the colossi but their feet. All
is ruin; and ruin without beauty.

Seen from within, however, the place is not without a
kind of gloomy grandeur. Two rows of square columns,
three at each side, divide the large hall into a nave and
two aisles. This hall is about forty feet square, and the
pillars have been left standing in the living rock, like those
in the early tombs at Shit. The daylight, half-blocked]
out by the fallen portico, is pleasantly subdued, and finds
its way dimly to the sanctuary at the farther end.
The sculptures of the interior, though much dam-
aged, are less defaced than those of the outer court.
Walls, pillars, doorways, are covered with bas-reliefs.
The king and Ptah, the king and Ra, the king and
Amen, stand face to face, hand in hand, on each of the
four sides of every column. Scenes of worship, of slaughter,
of anointing, cover the walls; and the blank spaces are
filled in as usual with hieroglyphic inscriptions. Among
these Champollion discovered an imperfect list of the sons
and daughters of Rameses II. Four gods once sat
enthroned at the upper end of the sanctuary; but they
have shared the fate of the colossi outside and oidy their
feet remain. The wall sculptures of this dark little
chamber are, however, better preserved, and better worth
preservation, than those of the hall. A procession of
priests, bearing on their shoulders the bari, or sacred boat,
is quite unharmed; and even the color is yet fresh upon a
full-length figure of Ilathor close by.

But more interesting than all these — more interesting
because more rare — is a sculptured palm-tree against which
the king leans while making an offering to Amen Ra. The

E0R08K0 TO ABOU SIMBEL. 229

trunk is given with elaborate truthfulness; and the
branches, though formalized, are correct and graceful in
curvature. The tree is but an accessory. It may have
been introduced with reference to the date-harvests which
are the wealth of the district; but it has no kind of sacred
significance, and is noticeable only for the naturalness of
the treatment. Such naturalness is unusual in the art of
this period, when the conventional persea and the equally
conventional lotus are almost the only vegetable forms
which appear on the walls of the temples. I can recall,
indeed, But one similar instance in the bas-relief sculpt-
ure of the new empire — namely, the bent, broken and
waving bulrushes in the great lion-hunting scene at
Medinet Ilabu, which are admirably free and studied, ap-
parently, from nature.

Coming out, we looked in vain along the court-yard walls
for the battle-scene in which Champollion was yet able to
trace the famous fighting lion of Rameses II with the
legend describing him as " the servant of his majesty rend-
ing his foes in pieces. " But that was forty-five years ago.
Now it is with difficulty that one detects a few vague out-
lines of chariot-wheels and horses.

There are some rock-cut tombs in the face of the cliffs
close by. The painter explored them while the writer
sketched the interior of the temple ; but he reported of
them as mere sepulchers, unpainted and unsculptured.

The rocks, the sands, the sky, were at a white heat when
we again turned our faces toward the river. Where there
had so lately been a great multitude there was now not a
soul. The palms nodded; the pigeons dozed; the mud
town slept in the sun. Even the mother had gone from
her place of weeping and left her dead to the silence of
the desert.

We went and looked at his grave. The fresh-turned
sand was oidy a little darker than the rest, and, but for the
trampled foot-marks round about, we should scarcely have
been able to distinguish the new mound from the old ones.
All were alike nameless. Some, more cared for than the
rest, were bordered with large stones and filled with varie-
gated pebbles. One or two were fenced about with a mud
wall. All had a bowl of baked clay at the head. Wher-
ever we saw a burial-ground in Nubia we saw these bowls
upon the graves. The mourners, they told us, mourn

230 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

<

here for forty days; during which time they come every
Friday with freshwater, that the birds may drink from it.
The bowls on the other graves were dry and full of sand;
but the new bowl was brimming full and the water in it
was hot to the touch.

We found L and the happy coujole standing at bay

with their backs against a big lebbich tree, surrounded by
an immense crowd and far from comfortable. Bent on
"bazaaring," they had probably shown themselves too
ready to buy; so bringing the whole population, with all
the mats, baskets, nose-rings, finger-rings, necklaces and
bracelets in the place about their ears. Seeing the straits
they were in, we ran to the dahabeeyah and dispatched
three or four sailors to the rescue, who brought them off
in triumph.

Even in Egypt it does not answer, as a rule, to go about
on shore without an escort. The people are apt to be
importunate and can with difficulty be kept at a pleasant
distance. But in Nubia, where the traveler's life was
scarcely safe fifty years ago, unprotected Ingleezeh are
pretty certain to be disagreeably mobbed. The natives,
in truth, are still mere savages au fond — the old war-
paint being but half-disguised under a thin veneer of
Mohammedanism.

Some of the women who followed our friends to the
boat, though in complexion as black as the rest, had light-
blue eyes and frizzy red hair, the effect of which was inde-
scribably frightful. Both here and at Ibrim there are
many of these " fair" families, who claim to be descended
from Bosnian fathers stationed in Nubia at the time of the
conquest of Sultan Selim in a. d. 1517 They are
immensely proud of their alien blood and think them-
selves quite beautiful.

All hands being safe on board, we pushed off at once,
leaving about a couple of hundred disconsolate dealers on
the banki A long-drawn howl of disappointment followed
in our wake. Those who had sold, and those who had not
sold, were alike wronged, ruined, and betrayed. One
woman tore wildly along the bank, shrieking and beating
her breast. Foremost among the sellers, she had parted
from her gold brow-pendant for a good price ; but was in-
consolable now for the loss of it.

It often happened that those who had been most eager

KOROSKO TO ABOU 8 1MB EL. 231

to trade were readiest to repent of their bargains. Even
so, however, their cupidity outweighed their love of finery.
Moved once or twice by the lamentations of some dark
damsel who had sold her necklace at a handsome profit, we
offered to annul the purchase. But it invariably proved
that, despite her tears, she preferred to keep the money.

The palms of Derr and of the rich district 'beyond were
the finest we saw throughout the journey. Straight and
strong aud magnificently plumed, they rose to an average
height of seventy or eighty feet. These superb planta-
tions supply all Egypt with saplings and contribute a
heavy tax to the revenue. The fruit, sun-dried and
shriveled, is also sent northward in large quantities.

The trees are cultivated with strenuous industry by the
natives and owe as much of their perfection to laborious
irrigation as to climate. The foot of each separate palm
is surrounded by a circular trench, into which the water is
conducted by a small channel about fourteen inches in
width. Every palm-grove stands in a network of these
artificial runlets. The reservoir from which they are sup-
plied is filled by means of a sakkieh, or water-wheel — a
primitive and picturesque machine consisting of two
wheels, the one set vertically to the river and slung with a
chain of pots; the other a horizontal cog turned sometimes
by a camel, but more frequently in Nubia by a buffalo.
The pots (which go down empty, dip under the water, and
come up full) feed a sloping trough which in some places
supplies a reservoir, and in others communicates at once
with the irrigating channels. These sakkiehs are kept
perpetually going, and are set so close just above Derr,
that the writer counted a line of fifteen within the space of
a single mile. There were probably quite as many on
the opposite bank.

The sakkiehs creak atrociously ; and their creaking
ranges over an unlimited gamut. From morn till dewy
eve, from dewy eve till morn, they squeak, they squeal,
they grind, they groan, they croak. Heard after dark,
sakkieh answering to sakkieh, their melancholy chorus
makes night hideous. To sleep through it is impossible.
Being obliged to moor a few miles beyond Derr and having
lain awake half the night, we offered a sakkieh-driver a
couple of dollars if he would let his wheel rest till morn-
ing. But time and water are more precious than even

232 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

dollars at this season; and the man refused. All we could
do, therefore, was to punt into the middle of the river and
lie off at a point as nearly as possible equidistant from
our two nearest enemies.

The native dearly loves the tree which costs him so much
labor, and thinks it the chef-d'oeuvre of creation. When
Allah made the first man, says an Arab legend, he found
he had a little clay to spare ; so with that he made the
palm. And to the poor Nubian, at all events, the gifts of
the palm are almost divine ; supplying food for his chil-
dren, thatch for his hovel, timber for his water-wheel,
ropes, matting, cups, bowls and even the strong drink for-
bidden by the prophet. The date-wine is yellowish-white,
like whisky. It is not a wine, however, but a spirit;
coarse, fiery, and unpalatable.

Certain trees — as for instance the perky little pine of the
German wald — are apt to become monotonous; but one
never wearies of the palm. Whether taken singly or in
masses, it is always graceful, always suggestive. To the
sketcher on the Nile it is simply invaluable. It breaks the
long parallels of river and bank and composes with the
stern lines of Egyptian architecture as no other tree in the
world could do.

" Subjects, indeed!" said once upon a time an eminent
artist to the present writer ; "fiddlesticks about subjects!
Your true painter can make a picture out of a post and a
puddle."'

Substitute a palm, however, for a post; combine it with
anything that comes first — a camel, a shadvif, a woman
with a water-jar upon her head — and your picture stands
before you ready made.

Nothing more surprised me at first than the color of the
palm-frond, which painters of eastern landscape are wont
to depict of a hard bluish tint, like the color of a yucca
leaf. Its true shade is a tender, bloomy, sea-green gray;
difficult enough to match, but in most exquisite harmony
with the glow of the sky and the gold of the desert.

The palm-groves kept us company for many a mile,
backed on the Arabian side by long level ranges of sand-
stone cliffs, horizontally stratified, like those of the The-
baid. We now scarcely ever saw a village — only palms and
sakkiehs and sand-banks in the river. The villages were
there, but invisible, being built on the verge of the desert.

KOROSKO TO ABOU S1MBEL. 233

Arable land is too valuable in Nubia for either the living to
dwell upon it or the dead to be buried in it.

At Ibrim — a sort of ruined Ehrenbreitstein on the top
of a grand precipice overhanging the river — we touched for
only a few minutes, in order to buy a very small shaggy
sheep which bad been brought down to the landing-place
for sale. But for the breeze that happened just then to
be blowing we should have liked to climb the rock and see
the view and the ruins — which are part modern, part
Turkish, part Roman, and little, if at all, Egyptian.

There are also some sculptured and painted grottoes to
be seen in the southern face of the mountain. They are,
however, too difficult of access to be attempted by ladies.
Alfred, who went ashore after quail, was drawn up to them
by ropes, but found them to much defaced as to be
scarcely worth the trouble of a visit.

We were now only thirty-four miles from Abou Simbel;
but making slow progress and impatiently counting every
foot of the way. The heat at times was great, frequent
and fitful spells of Khamsin wind alternating with a hot
calm that tried the trackers sorely. Still Ave pushed for-
ward, a few miles at a time, till by and by the flat-topped
cliffs dropped out of sight and were again succeeded by vol-
canic peaks, some of which looked loftier than any of
those about Dakkeh or Korosko.

Then the palms ceased and the belt of cultivated land
narrowed to a thread of green between the rocks and the
water's edge; and at last there came an evening when we
only wanted breeze enough to double two or three more
bends in the river.

" Is it to be Abou Simbel to-night?" we asked for the
twentieth time before going down to dinner.

To which Rei's Hassan replied: " Aivvab" ("certainly").

But the pilot shook his head and added: " Bukra" (" to-
morrow ").

When we came up again the moon had risen but the
breeze had dropped. Still we moved, impelled by a breath
so faint that one could scarcely feel it. Presently even
this failed. The sail collapsed; the pilot steered for the
bank; the captain gave word to go aloft — when a sudden
puff from the north changed our fortunes and sent us but
again with a well-filled sail into the middle of the river.

None of us, I think, will be likely to forget the sustained

234 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

excitement of the next three hours. As the moon climbed
higher alight more mysterious and unreal than the light
of day filled and overflowed the wide expanse of river and
desert. We could see the mountains of Abou Simbel stand-
ing, as it seemed, across our path, in the far distance — a
lower one first; then a larger; then a series of receding
heights, all close together, yet all distinctly separate.

That large one — the mountain of the great temple — held
us like a spell. For a long time it looked a mere mountain
like the rest. By and by, however, we fancied we detected
a something — a shadow — such a shadow as might be cast
by a gigantic buttress. Next appeared a black speck, no
bigger than a port-hole. We knew that this black speck
must be the doorway. We knew that the great statues
were there, though not yet visible, and that we must soon
see them.

For our sailors, meanwhile, there was the excitement of
a chase. The Bagstones and three other dahabeeyahs
were coming up behind us in the path of the moonlight.
Their galley fires glowed like beacons on the water; the
nearest about a mile away, the last a spark in the distance.
We were not in the mood to care much for racing to-night,
but we were anxious to keep our lead and be first at the
mooring place.

To run upon a sand-bank at such a moment was like
being plunged suddenly into cold water. Our sail flapped
furiously. The men rushed to the pun ting-poles. Four
jumped overboard and shoved with all the might of their
shoulders. By the time we got off, however, the other boats
had crept up half a mile nearer, and we had hard work to
keep them from pressing closer on our heels.

At length the last corner was rounded and the great
temple stood straight before us. The facade, sunk in the
mountain side like a huge picture in a mighty frame, was
now quite plain to see. The black speck was no longer a
port-hole, but a lofty doorway.

Last of all, though it was night, and they were still not
much less than a mile away, the four colossi came out,
ghostlike, vague and shadowy, in the enchanted moon-
light. Even as we watched them they seemed to grow, to
dilate, to be moving toward us out of the silvery distance.

It was drawing on toward midnight when the Philai
at length ran in close under the great temple. Content

KOROSKO TO ABOU SIMBEL. 235

with what they had seen from the river the rest of the
party then went soberly to bed; but the painter and the writer
had no patience to wait till morning. Almost before the
mooring- rope could be made fast they had jumped ashore
and began climbing the bank.

They went and stood at the feet of the colossi, and on
the threshold of that vast portal beyond which was dark-
ness. The great statues towered above their heads. The
river glittered like steel in the far distance. There was a
keen silence in the air ; and toward the east the Southern
Cross was rising. To the strangers who stood talking-
there with bated breath, the time, the place, even the
sound of their own voices, seemed unreal. They felt as if
the whole scene must fade with the moonlight, and vanish
before morning.

236 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER XV.

KAMESES THE GKEAT.

The central figure of Egyptian history has always been,
probably always will be, Rameses II. He holds this place
partly by right, partly by accident. He was born to great-
ness; he achieved greatness ; and he had borrowed great-
ness thrust upon him. It was bis singular destiny not
only to be made a posthumous usurper of glory, but to be
forgotten by his own name and remembered in a variety of
aliases. As Sesoosis, as Osymandias, as Sesostris, he
became credited in course of time with all the deeds of all
the heroes of the new empire, beginning with Thothmes III,
who preceded him by three hundred years, and ending with
Sheshonk, the captor of Jerusalem, who lived four centuries
after him. Modern science, however, has repaired this
injustice; and, while disclosing the long-lost names of a
brilliant succession of sovereigns, has enabled us to ascribe
to each the honors which are his due. We know now that
some of these were greater conquerors than Rameses II.
We suspect that some were better rulers. Yet the popu-
lar hero keeps his ground. What he has lost by interpre-
tation on the one hand, he has gained by interpretation on
the other; and the beau sabreur of the " Third SallierPapy-
rus " remains to this day the representative Pharaoh of a
line of monarchs whose history covers a space of fifty cent-
uries, and whose frontiers reached at one time from
Mesopotamia to the ends of the Soudan.

The interest that one takes in Rameses II begins at
Memphis and goes on increasing all the way up the river.
It is a purely living, a purely personal interest; such as one
feels in Athens for Pericles, or in Florence for Lorenzo the
Magnificent. Other Pharaohs but languidly affect the
imagination. Thothmes and Amenhotep are to us as Da-
rius or Artaxerxes — shadows that come and go in the dis-
tance. But with he second Rameses we are on terms of re-

RAM EXES THE GREAT.

•2?A

CARTOUCHES OF RAMESES THE GREAT.

spectful intimacy. We seem to know the man — to feel his
presence — to hear his name in the air. His features are as
familiar to us as those of Henry VIII or Louis XIV.
His cartouches meet us at every turn. Even to those who
do not read the hieroglyphic character, those well-known
signs convey by sheer force of association the name and style
of Rameses, beloved of Amen.

This being so, the traveler is
ill-equipped who goes through
Egypt without something more
than a mere guide-book knowl-
edge of Rameses II. He is,
as it were, content to read the
argument and miss the poem.
In the desolation of Memphis,
in the shattered splendor of
Thebes, he sees only the ordi-
nary pathos of ordinary ruins.
As for Abou Simbel, the most
stupendous historical record
ever transmitted from the past to the present, it tells him a
but half-intelligible story. Holding to the merest thread of
explanation, he wanders from hall to hall, lacking alto-
gether that potent charm of foregone association which no
Murray can furnish. Your average Frenchman, straying
helplessly through Westminister Abbey under the conduct
of the verger, has about as vague a conception of the his-
torical import of the things he sees.

What is true of the traveler is equally true of those who
take the Nile vicariously " in connection with Mudie." If
they are to understand any description of Abou Simbel,
they must first know something about Rameses II. Let us
then, while the Phila? lies moored in the shadow of the rock
of Abshek,* review, as summarily as may be, the leading
facts of this important reign; such facts, that is to say, as
are recorded in inscriptions, papyri, and other contempo-
rary monuments.

Rameses Ilf was the son of Seti I, the second Pharaoh

* Abshek: The hieroglyphic name of Abou Simbel. Gr. Ahoccis.

f In the present state of Egyptian chronology it is hazardous to
assign even an approximate date to events which happened before
the conquest of Canibyses. The Egyptians, in fact, had no chronology

238 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

of the nineteenth dynasty and of a certain Princess Tuaa,
described on the monuments as "royal wife, royal
mother, and heiress and sharer of the thorne." She is
supposed to have been of the ancient royal line of the
preceding dynasty, and so to have had, perhaps, a better
right than her husband to the double crown of Egypt.
Through her, at all events, Eameses II seems to have
been in some sense born a king* equal in rank, if not in
power, with his father ; his rights, moreover, were
fully recognized by Seti, who accorded him royal and
divine honors from the hour of his birth, or, in
the language of the Egyptian historians, while he
was " yet in the egg." The great dedicatory in-
scription of the Temple of Osiris at Abydos,f relates how
his father took the royal child in his arms, when he was
yet little more than an infant, showed him to the people as
their king, and caused him to be invested by the great
officers of the palace with the double crown of the two
lands. The same inscription states that he was a general
from his birth, and that as a nursling he "commanded

in the strict sense of the word. Being without any fixed point of
departure, such as the birth of Christ, they counted the events of
each reign from the accession of the sovereign. Under such a sys-
tem error and confusion were inevitable. To say when Rameses II
was born and when he died is impossible. The very century in
which he nourished is uncertain. Mariette, taking the historical
lists of Manetho for his basis, supposes the nineteenth dynasty to
have occupied the interval comprised within B, C. 1462 and 1288;
according to which computation (allowing fifty-seven years for the
reigns of Rameses I and Seti I) the reign of Rameses II would date
from b. c. 1405. Brugsch gives him from b. c. 1407 to b. c. 1341;
and Lepsius places his reign in the sixty- six years lying between
b. c. 1388 and b. c. 1322; these calculations being both made before
the discovery of the Stella of Abydos. Bunsen dates his accession
from B. c. 1352. Between the highest and the lowest of these cal-
culations there is, as shown by the following table, a difference of
fifty-five years:

Rameses II began to reign b. c.

g> f Brugsch .... 1407
'■B „ )' Mariette .... 1405
| 2 1 Lepsius .... 1388

J Bunsen .... 1352

* See chap, viii, foot note, p. 126.

t See " Essai sur l'lnscription Dt'dicatoire du Temple d'Abydos et
la Jeunesse de Sesotris." — G. Maspero, Paris, 1867.

RAMESES THE GREAT. 230

the body-guard and the brigade of chariot-fighters "; but
these titles must, of course, have been purely honorary. At
twelve years of age he was formally associated with his
father upon the throne, and by the gradual retirement of
Seti I from the cares of active government the co-royalty
of Rameses became, in the course of the next ten or fifteen
years, an undivided responsibility. He was probably
about thirty when his father died; and it is from this time
that the years of his reign are dated. In other words,
Rameses II, in his official records, counts only from the
period of his sole reign, and the year of the death of Seti
is the "year one" of the monumental inscriptions of his
son and successor. In the second, fourth, and fifth years
of his monarchy, he personally conducted campaigns in
Syria, more than one of the victories then achieved being
commemorated on the rock-cut tablets of Nahr-el-Kelb,
near Beyriit; and that he was by this time recognized as a
mighty warrior is shown by the stela of Dakkeh, which
dates from the " third year," and celebrates him as terrible
in battle — " the bull powerful against Ethiopia, the griffin
furious against the negroes, whose grip has put the mount-
aineers to flight." The events of the campaign of his
" fifth year" (undertaken in order to reduce to obedience
the revolted tribes of Syria and Mesopotamia) are immor-
talized in the poem of Pentaur.* It was on this occasion
that he fought his famous single-handed fight against
overwhelming odds, in the sight of both armies under the
walls of Kadesh. Three years later he carried fire and
sword into the land of Canaan, and in his eleventh year,
according to inscriptions yet extant upon the ruined
pylons of the Ramesseum at Thebes, he took, among other
strong places on sea and shore, the fortresses of Ascalon
and Jerusalem.

The next important record transports us to the twenty-
first year of his reign. Ten years have now gone by since
the fall of Jerusalem, during which time a fluctuating
frontier warfare has probably been carried on, to the
exhaustion of both armies. Khetasira, Prince of Kheta,f
sues for peace. An elaborate treaty is thereupon framed,
whereby the said prince and " Rameses, chief of rulers,

* See chap, viii, p. 125.

f i. e. Prince of the Hittites; the Kheta heiiig now identified with
that people.

240 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

who fixes his frontiers where he pleases," pledge them-
selves to a strict offensive and defensive alliance, and to
the maintenance of good-will and brotherhood forever.
This treaty, we are told, was engraved for the Khetan.
prince " upon a tablet of silver adorned with the likeness
of the figure of Sutekh, the great ruler of Heaven"; while
for Rameses Mer-Amen it was graven on a wall adjoining
the great hall at Karnak,* where it remains to this day.

According to the last clause of this curious document,
the contracting parties enter also into an agreement to
deliver up to each other the political fugitives of both
countries ; providing at the same time for the personal
safety of the offenders. " Whosoever shall be so delivered
up," says the treaty, " himself, his wives, his children,
let him not be smitten to death ; moreover, let him not
suffer in his eyes, in his mouth, in his feet; moreover, let
not any crime be set up against him."f This is the
earliest instance of an extradition treaty upon record ; and
it is chiefly remarkable as an illustration of the clemency
with which international law was at that time administered.

Finally the convention between the sovereigns is placed
under the joint protection of the gods of both countries:
" Sutekh of Kheta, Amen of Egypt and all the thousand
gods; the gods, male and female; the gods of the hills, of
the rivers, of the great sea, of the winds and the clouds,
of the land of Kheta and of the land of Egypt."

The peace now concluded would seem to have remained
unbroken throughout the rest of the long reign of Rameses
II. We hear, at all events, of no more wars; and we find
the king married presently to a Khetan princess, who, in
deference to the gods of her adopted country, takes the

* This invaluable record is sculptured on a piece of wall built out,
apparently, for tbe purpose, at right angles to tbe south wall of the
Hypostyle Hall at Karnak. The treaty faces to the west, and is
situated about half-way between the famous bas-relief of Sheshonk
and his captives and the Karnak version of the poem of Pentaur.
The former lies to the west of the southern portal; the latter to the
east. The wall of the treaty juts out about sixty feet to the east
of the portal. This south wall and its adjunct, a length of about
two hundred feet in all, is perhaps the most precious and interesting
piece of sculptured surface in the world.

f See "Treaty of Peace Between Rameses II and the Hittites,"
translated by C. W. Goodwin, M. A. " Records of the Past," vol. iv,
p. 25.

RAMESB8 THE GREAT. 241

official name of Ma-at-iri-neferu-Ra, or " Contemplating
the beauties of Ra." The names of two other queens —
Nefer-t-ari and Ast-nefert — are also found upon the monu-
ments.

These three were probably the only legitimate wives of
Rameses II, though lie must also have been the lord of an
extensive hareem. His family, at all events, as recorded
upon the walls of the Temple at Wady Sabooah, amounted
to no less than one hundred and seventy children, of
whom one hundred and eleven were princes. This may
have been a small family for a great king three thousand
years ago. It was but the other day, comparatively speak-
ing, that Lepsius saw and talked with old Hasan, Kashef
of Derr — the same petty ruler who gave so much trouble to
Belzoni, Burckhardt, and other early travelers — and he,
like a patriarch of old, had in his day been the husband of
sixty-four wives and the father of something like two
hundred children.

For forty-six years after the making of the Khetan
treaty, Rameses the Great lived at peace with his neigh-
bors and tributaries. The evening of his life was long and
splendid. It became his passion and his pride to found
new cities, to raise dikes, to dig canals, to build fortresses,
to multiply statues, obelisks, and inscriptions, and to
erect the most gorgeous and costly temples in which man
ever worshiped. To the monuments founded by his pre-
decessors he made additions so magnificent that they
dwarfed the designs they were intended to complete. He
caused artesian wells to be pierced in the stony bed of the
desert. He carried on the canal begun by his father and
opened a water-way between the Mediterranean and the
Red Sea.* No enterprise was too difficult, no project too

* Since tliis book was written, a f urther study of the subject lias
led me to conjecture that not Seti I, but Queen Hatsbepsu (Hatasu)
of the eighteenth dynasty, was the actual originator of the canal
which connected the Nile with the Red Sea. The inscriptions
engraved upon the walls of her great temple at Dayr-el-Bahari
expressly state that her squadron sailed from Thebes to the land of
Punt and returned from Punt to Thebes, laden with the products of
that mysterious country which Mariette and Maspero have con-
clusively shown to have been situated on the Somali coast-line
between Bab-el-Mandeb and Cape Guardafui. Unless, therefore,
some water-way existed at that time between the Nile and the Eed
Sea, it follows that Queen Hatshepsu's squadron of discovery must
have sailed northward from Thebes, descended the Nile to one of Us,

242 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

vast, for his ambition. "As a child/' says the stela of
Dakkeh, " he superintended the public works and his
hands laid their foundations.''' As a man, he became the
supreme builder. Of his gigantic structures, only certain
colossal fragments have survived the ravages of time; yet
those fragments are the wonder of the world.

To estimate the cost at which these things were done is
now impossible. Every temple, every palace, represented a
hecatomb of human lives. Slaves from Ethiopia, cap-
tives taken in war, Syrian immigrants settled in the delta,
were alike pressed into the service of the state. We know
how the Hebrews suffered, and to what extremity of
despair they were reduced by the tasks imposed upon
them. Yet even the Hebrews were less cruelly used than
some who were kidnaped beyond the frontiers. Torn
from their homes, without hope of return, driven in herds
to the mines, the quarries, and the brick-fields, these hap-
less victims were so dealt with that not even the chances
of desertion were open to them. The negroes from the
south were systematically drafted to the north; the Asiatic
captives were transported to Ethiopia. Those who labored

mouths, traversed the whole length of the Mediterranean sea, gone
out through the pillars of Hercules, doubled the Cape of Good Hope,
and arrived at the Somali coast by way of the Mozambique Channel
and the shores of Zanzibar. In other words, the Egyptian galleys
would twice have made the almost complete circuit of the African
continent. This is obviously an untenable hypothesis ; and there
remains no alternative route except that of a canal, or chain of
canals, connecting the Nile with the Red Sea. The old Wady
Tumilat canal has hitherto been universally ascribed to Seti I, for no
other reason than that a canal leading from the Nile to the ocean is
represented on a bas-relief of his reign on the north outer wall of the
great temple of Karnak ; but this canal may undoubtedly have been
made under the preceding dynasty, and it is not only probable, but
most likely, that the great woman-Pbaraoh, who first conceived the
notion of venturing her ships upon an unknown sea, may also have
organized the channel of communication by which those ships went
forth. According to the second edition of Sir J. W. Dawson's
"Egypt and Syria," the recent surveys conducted by Lieut. -Col.
A.rdagh, Maj. Spaight and Lieut. Burton, all of the royal engineers,
' render it certain that this valley [i. e. the Wady Tumilat] once
carried a branch up the Nile which discharged its waters into the Red
Sea" (see chap. iii. p. 55) ; and in such case, if that branch were not
already navigable, Queen Hatshepsu would only have needed to
canalize it, which is what she probably did. [Note to second
edition.]

R AMESES THE GREAT. 243

underground were goaded on without rest or respite, till
they fell down in the mines and died.

That Rameses II was the Pharaoh of the captivity,* and
that Meneptah, his son and successor, was the Pharaoh of
the exodus,* are now among the accepted presumptions
of Egyptological science. The Bible and the monuments
confirm each other upon these points, while both are again
corroborated by the results of recent geographical and
philological research. The " treasure-cities Pithom and
Raamses" which the Israelites built for Pharaoh with
bricks of their own making, are the Pa-Tum and Pa-
Rameses, of the inscriptions, and both have recently been
identified by M. Naville, in the course of his excavations
conducted in 1883 and 1886 for the Egypt Exploration
Fund.

The discovery of Pithom, the ancient biblical " treasure-

* " Les circonstances de l'histoire hebra'ique s'appliquent ici d'une
rnaniere on ne pent plus satisfaisante. Les Hebreux opprimes batis-
saient une ville da nom de Ramses. Ce recit ne peut done s'appliquer
qu'a l'epoque ou la famille de Ramses etait sur le trdne. Mo'ise, con-
traint de fuir la colere du roi.s apres le meurtre d'un Egyptien, subit
un long exil, parceque le roi ne mourut qu'apres un temps fort long;
Ramses II regna en effet plus de 67 ans. Aussitot apres le retour de
Mo'ise cornmenca la lutte qui se termina par le celebre passage de la
Mer Rouge. Cet eveneinent eut done lieu sous le fils de Ramses II,
ou tout au plus tard pendant l'epoque de troubles quit suivit son
regne. Ajoutons que la rapidite des derniers eveneruents ne permet
pas de supposer que le roi eut sa residence a Thebes dans cet instant.
Or, Merenptah a precisement laiss<' dans la Basse-Egypte, et speciale-
ment a, Tanis, des preuves importantes de son sejour." — De Rouge,
" Notice des Monuments Egyptiennes du Rez de Chaussee du Musee
du Louvre," Paris, 1857, p. 22.

"II est impossible d'attribuer ni a Meneptah I, ni a Seti II, ni a
Siptah, ni a Amonmeses, un regne meme de vingt annees; a plus
forte raison de cinquante ou soixante Seal le regne de Ramses II rem-
plit les conditions indispensables. Lors meme que nous ne saurions
pas que ce souverain a occupe les Hebreux a la construction de la ville
de Ramses, nous serions dans 1'impossibilite de placer Mo'ise a une
autre epoque, a moins de faire table rase des renseignements bib-
liques." — " Recherches pour servir ti l'Histoire de la XIX dynastie:"
F. Chabas, Paris, 1873, p. 148.

f The Bible narrative, it has often deen observed, invariably desig-
nates the king by this title, than which none, unfortunately, can be
more vague for purposes of identification. "Plus generalement,"
says Brugsch, writing of the royal titles, " sa personne se cache sous
une serie d'expressions qui toutes ont le sens de la 'grande maison '
ou du 'grand palais,' quelquefois au duel, des \i> uxgrandes maisons,'
par rapport a la division de l'Egypte en deux parties. C'est du title

244 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

city" of the first chapter of Exodus, has probably attracted
more public attention and been more widely discussed by
European savants than any archaeological event since the
discovery of Nineveh. It was in February, 1883, that M.
Naville opened the well-known mound of Tel-el-Mask-
hutah, on the south bank of the new sweet-water canal in
the "Wady Tumilat, and there discovered the founda-
tions and other remains of a fortified city of the kind
known in Egyptian as a bekhen, or store-fort. This
bekhcn, which was surrounded by a wall thirty feet in
thickness, proved to be about twelve acres in extent. In
one corner of the inclosure were found the ruins of a temple
built by Barneses II. The rest of the area consisted of a
labyrinth of subterraneous rectangular cellars, or store-
chambers, constructed of sun-dried bricks of large size and
divided by walls varying from eight to ten feet in thickness.
In the ruins of the temple were discovered several statues
more or less broken, a colossal hawk inscribed with the
royal ovals of Rameses II, and other works of art dating
from the reigns of Osorkon II, Nectanebo and Ptolemy
Philadelphus. The hieroglyphic legends engraved upon
the statues established the true value of the discovery by
giving both the name of the city and the name of the dis-
trict in which the city was situated; the first being Pa-Tum
(Pithom), the "Abode of Turn," and the second being
Thuku-t (Succoth) ; so identifying "Pa-Turn, in the dis-
trict of Thuku-t," with Pithom, the treasure-city built by
the forced labor of the Hebrews and Succoth, the region
in which they made their first halt on going forth from the
land of bondage. Even the bricks with which the great
wall and the walls of the store-chambers are built bear

tres frequent Per-aa, ' la grande maison,' 'la haute porte,' qu'on a
heiireusement derive le noni biblique Pharao donne aux rois
d'Egypte." — " Histoire d'Egypte," Brugsch, second edition, Part I, p.
85; Leipzig, 1875.

This probably is the only title under which it was permissible for
the plebeian class to speak or write of the sovereign. It can scarcely
have escaped Herr Brugsch's notice that we even find it literally
translated in Genesis, 1. 4, wbere it is said that " when the days of
his mourning were past, Joseph spake unto tin house of Pharaoh,
saying: "If now I have found grace in your eyes,' " etc. etc. If Moses,
however, had but once recorded the cartouche name of either of his
three Pharaohs, archaeologists and commentators would have been
spared a great deal of trouble.

R AMESES THE GREAT. 245

eloquent testimony to the toil of the suffering colonists
and confirm in its minutest details the record of their
oppression; some being duly kneaded with straw; others,
when the straw was no longer forthcoming, being mixed
with the leafage of a reed common to the marsh lands of
the delta; and the remainder, when even this substitute
ran short, being literally "'bricks without straw," molded
of mere clay crudely dried in the sun. The researches of
M. Naville further showed that the temple to Turn,
founded by Raineses II, was restored, or rebuilt, by Osor-
kon II, of the twenty-second dynasty ; while at a still
higher level were discovered the remains of a Roman
fortress. That Pithom was still an important place in the
time of the Ptolemies is proved by a large and historically im-
portant tablet found by M. Naville in one of the store-cham-
bers, where it had been thrown in with other sculptures and
rubbish of various kinds. This tablet records repairs done to
the canal, an expedition to Ethiopia and the foundation of
the city of Arsinoe. Not less important from a geograph-
ical point of view was the finding of a Roman milestone
which identifies Pithom with Hero (Heroopolis), where,
according to the Septuagint, Joseph went forth to meet
Jacob. This milestone gives nine Roman miles as the dis-
tance from Heroopolis to Clysma. A very curious manu-
script lately discovered by Sig. Gamurrini in the library
of Arezzo, shows that even so late as the fourth century of
the Christian era this ancient walled inclosure — the camp,
or "Ero Castra," of the Roman period, the " Pithom" of
the Bible — was still known to pious pilgrims as "the
Pithom built by the children of Israel ;" that the adjoin-
ing town, external to the camp, at that time established
within the old Pithom boundaries, was known as "Heroo-
polis ;" and that the town of Raineses was distant from
Pithom about twenty Roman miles.*

*This remarkable manuscript relates the journey made by a female
pilgrim of French birth, circa a. d. 370, to Egypt, Mesopotamia and
the holy land. The manuscript is copied from an older original and
dates from the tenth or eleventh century. Much of the work is lost,
but those parts are yet perfect which describe the pilgrim's progress
through Goshen to Tanis and thence to Jerusalem, Edessa and the
Haran. Of Pithom it is said: " Pithona etiam ci vitas quarn cediflca-
verunt filii Israel ostensa est nubis in ipso itinere ; in eo tamen loco
ubi jam fines Egypti intravimus, religentes jam terras Saracenorum.
Nam et ipsud nunc Pithona castrum est, Heroun autero civitas quae

246 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

As regards Pa-Rameses, the other "treasure-city" of
Exodus, it is coujectu rally, but not positively, identified
by M. Naville with the mound of Saft-el-Henneh, the
scene of his explorations in 1886. That Saft-el-IIenneh
was identical with " Kes," or Goshen, the capital town of
the " Land of Goshen," has been unequivocally demon-
strated by the discoverer ; and that it was also known in
the time of Rameses II as "Pa-Rameses" is shown to be
highly probable.* There are remains of a temple built of
black basalt, with pillars, fragments of statues and the like,
all inscribed with the cartouches of Rameses II ; and the
distance from Pithom is just twenty Roman miles.

It was from Pa-Rameses that Rameses II set out with his
army to attack the confederate princes of Asia Minor then
lying in ambush near Kadesh ; f and it was hither that
he returned in triumph after the great victory. A con-
temporary letter written by one Panbesa, a scribe, narrates
in glowing terms the beauty and abundance of the royal
city, and tells how the damsels stood at their doors in holi-
day apparel, with nosegays in their hands and sweet oil
upon their locks, " on the day of the arrival of the war-
god of the world." This letter is in the British Museum. J

Other letters written during the reign of Rameses II
have by some been supposed to make direct mention of
the Israelites.

"I have obeyed the orders of my master," writes the
scribe Kauiser to his superior Bak-en-Ptah, "being bidden

fuit illo teinpere, id est ubi occurit Joseph patri suo venienti, sicut
scriptum est in libro Genesis nunc est conies sed grandis quod nos
dicinius vicus . . . nam ipse vicus nunc appellator Hero." See
a letter on " Pithom- Heroopolis " communicated to " The Academy "
by M. Naville, March 22, 1884. See also M. Naville's memoir,
entitled '-The Store-City of Pithom and the Route of the Exodus"
(third edition) ; published by order of the committee of the Egypt
Exploration Fund, 1888.

*See M. Naville's memoir, entitled "Goshen and the Shrine of
Saft-el-Henneh," published by order of the committee of the Egypt
Exploration Fund, 1887.

f Kadesh, otherwise Katesh or Kades. A town on the Orontes.
See a paper entitled " The Campaign of Ramesis II in His Fifth Year
Against Kadesh on the Orontes," by the Rev. G. H. Tomkins, in the
"Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology," 1881, 1882;
also in the " Transactions" of the society, vol. viii.

% Anastasi Papyri, No. Ill, Brit. Mus.

RAMESES THE GREAT. 247

to serve out the rations to the soldiers, and also to the
Aperiu [Hebrews?], who quarry stone for the palace of
King Rameses Mer-Amen." A si miliar document written
by a scribe named Keniamon and couched in almost the
same words shows these Aperiu on another occasion to
have been quarrying for a building on the southern side of
Memphis; in which case Turra would be the scene of their
labors.

These invaluable letters, written on papyrus in the hie-
ratic character, are in good preservation. They were
found in the ruins of Memphis and now form part of the
treasures of the Museum of Leyden.* They bring home
to us with startling nearness the events and actors of the
Bible narrative. We see the toilers at their task and the
overseers reporting them to the directors of public works.
They extract from the quarry those huge blocks which are
our wonder to this day. Harnessed to rude sledges, they
drag them to the river side and embark them for transport

*See "Melanges Egyptologiques," by F. Chabas, 1 Serie, 1862.
There has been much discussion among Egyptologists on the subject
of M. Chabas' identification of the Hebrews. The name by which
they are mentioned in the papyri here quoted, as well as in an inscrip-
tion in the quarries of Hamamat, is Aperi-u. A learned critic in the
"Revue Areheologique" (vol. v, 2d series. 1862) writes as follows :
'•' La decouverte du nom des Hebreux dans les hieroglyphes serait un
fait de la derniere importance; mais comine aucun autre point histo-
rique n'offre peut-etre une pareille seduction, il faut aussi se metier
des illusions avec un soin meticuleux. La confusion des sons R et
L dans la langue Egyptienne, et le voisinage des articulations B et P
nuisent un peu, dans le cas particular, a la rigueur des conclusions
quon peut tirer de la transcription. Neanmoins, il y a lieu de prendre
en consideration ce fait que les Aperiu. dans les trois documents qui
nous parlent d'eux, sont niontres employes a des travaux de meme
espece que ceux auxquels, selon l'Ecriture, les Hebreux furent assu-
jettis par les Egyptiens. La circonstance que les papyrus mention-
nant ce nom ont ete trouves a Memphis, plaide encore en faveur de
l'assimilation proposee — decouverte importante qu'il est a desirer de
voir confirmee dar d'autres monuments." It should be added that
the Aperiu also appear in the inscription of Thothmes III at Karnak
and were supposed by Mariette to be the people of Ephon. It is,
however, to be noted" that the inscriptions mention two tribes of
Aperiu — a greater and a lesser, or an upper and a lower tribe. This
might perhaps consist with the establishment of Hebrew settlers in
the delta and others in the neighborhood of Memphis. The Aperiu,
according to other inscriptions, appear to have been horsemen, or
horse-trainers, which certainly tells against the probability of their
identity with the Hebrews.

248 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

to the opposite bank.* Some are so large and so heavy
that it takes a month to get them clown from the mountain
to the landing-place. f Other laborers are elsewhere making
bricks, digging canals, helping to build the great wall
which reached from Pelusium to Heliopolis, and strengthen-
ing the defenses not only of Pithom and Eameses but of
all the cities and forts between the lied Sea and the Medi-
terranean. Their lot is hard; but not harder than the lot
of other workmen. They are well fed. They intermarry.
They increase and multiply. The season of their great
oppression is not yet come. They make bricks, it is true,
and those who are so employed must supply a certain num-
ber daily;J but the straw is'not yet withheld, and the task,
though perhaps excessive, is not impossible. For we are
here on the reign of Barneses II, and the time when
Meneptah shall succeed him is yet far distant. It is not
till the king dies that the children of Israel sigh, "by
reason of the bondage."

There are in the British Museum, the Louvre, and the
Bibliotheque Natiomde. some much older papyri than
these two letters of the Leyden collection — some as old,
indeed, as the time of Joseph, but none, perhaps, of such
peculiar interest, In these, the scribes Kauiser and Keni-
amon seem still to live and speak. What would we not
give for a few more of their letters! These men knew
Memphis in its glory and had looked upon the face of
Eameses the Great. They might even have seen Moses in
his youth while yet he lived under the protection of his
adopted mother, a prince among princes. Kauiser and
Keniamon lived, and died, and were mummied between
three and four thousand years ago; yet these frail frag-
ments of papyrus have survived the wreck of ages, and

* See the famous wall-painting of the Colossus on the Sledge
engraved in Sir (J. Wilkinson's "Ancient Egyptians;" frontispiece
to vol. ii, ed. 1871.

f In a letter written by a priest who lived during this reign (Rame-
ses II), we find an interesting account of the disadvantages and hard-
ships attending various trades and pursuits, as opposed to the ease
and dignity of the sacerdotal office. Of the mason he says : "It is
the climax of his misery to have to remove a block of ten cubits bv
six, a block which it takes a month to drag bv the private ways
among the houses." — Sallier Pap. No. II, Brit. Musa?.

X " Ye shall no more give the people straw to make brick, as here-
tofore ; let them go and gather straw for themselves."

' ' And the tale of the bricks, which they did make heretofore, ye

RAM USES THE ORE AT. 249

the quaint writing with which they are covered is as intel-
ligible to ourselves as to the functionaries to whom it was
addressed. The Egyptians were eminently business-like,
and kept accurate entries of the keep and labor of their
workmen and captives. From the earliest epoch of which
the monuments furnish record, we find an elaborate
bureaucratic system in full operation throughout the
country. Even in the time of the pyramid-builders, there
are ministers of public works; inspectors of lands, lakes,
and quarries; secretaries, clerks, and overseers innumer-
able.* From all these, we may be sure, were required
strict aceounts of their expenditure, as well as reports of
the work done under their supervision. Specimens of
Egyptian book-keeping are by no means rare. The Louvre
is rich in memoranda of the kind; some relating to the
date-tax; others to the transport and taxation of corn, the

shall lay upon them ; ye shall not diminish ought thereof. — Ex-
odus, chap, v, 7, 8.

M. Chabas says: "Cese details sont completement conformes aux
habitudes Egyptiennes. Le melange de paille et d'argile dans les
briques antiques a ete parfaitement reconnu. D'un autre cote, le
travail a la tache est mentionne dans un texte ecrit au revers d'un
papyrus celebrant la splendeur de la ville de Ramses, et datant, selon
toute vraisemblance, du regne de Meneptah I. En voici la tran-
scription: ' Compte des macons, 12; en outre des homines a mouler
la brique dans leurs villes, amenes aux travaux de la maison. Eux a
faire leur nombre de briques journellesment; non ils sont a se re-
lacher des travaux dans la maison neuve; c'est ainsi que j'ai obei
au mandat donne par mon maitre.'" See " Recherches pour servir
a l'Histoire de la XIX Dynastie," par F. Chabas. Paris : 1873,
p. 149.

The curious text thus translated into French by M. Chabas is
written on the back of the papyrus already quoted (i. e. Letter of
Panbesa, Anastasi Papyri, No. Ill), and is preserved in the British
Museum. The wall-painting in a tomb of the eighteenth dynasty at
Thebes, which represents foreign captives mixing clay, molding,
drying, and placing bricks, is well known from the illustration in
Sir G. Wilkinson's "Ancient Egyptians," ed. of 1871, vol. ii, p. 196.
Cases sixty-one and sixty-two in the first Egyptian room, British
Museum, contain bricks of mixed clay and straw stamped with the
name of Barneses II.

* " Les affaires de la cour et de l'administration du pays sont ex-
pedites par les ' chefs ' ou les ' intendants,' par les ' secretaires ' et par
la nombreuse classe des scribes. . . . Le tresor rempli d'or et
d'argent, et le divan des depenses et des recettes avaient leurs in-

250 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

payment of wages, the sale and purchase of land for burial,
and the like. If any definite and quite unmistakable news
of the Hebrews should ever reach us from Egyptian
sources it will almost certainly be through the medium of
documents such as these.

An unusually long reign, the last forty-six years of
which would seem to have been spent in peace and out-
ward prosperity, enabled Rameses II to indulge his ruling
passion without interruption. To draw up anything like
an exhaustive catalogue of his known architectural works
would be equivalent to writing an itinerary of Egypt and
Ethiopia under the nineteenth dynasty. His designs were
as vast as his means appear to have been unlimited. From
the delta to Gebel Barkal, he rilled the land with monu-
ments dedicated to his own glory and the worship of the
gods. Upon Thebes, Abydos, and Tanis be lavished
structures of surpassing magnificence. In Nubia, at the
places now known as Gerf llossayn, Wady Sabooyah, Derr,
and Abou Simbel, he was the author of temples and the
founder of cities. These cities, which would probably be
better described as provincial towns, have disappeared; and
but for the mention of them in various inscriptions we
should not even know that they had existed. Who shall
say how many more have vanished, leaving neither trace
nor record? A dozen cities of Eameses* may yet lie buried
under some of these nameless mounds which follow each
other in such quick succession along the banks of the Nile
in Middle and Lower Egypt. Only yesterday, as it were,
the remains of what would seem to have been a magnificent
structure decorated in a style absolutely unique, were acci-

tendants a eux. La chambre des cornptes ne manque pas. Les
domaines, les proprieties, les palais, et merae les lacs du roi sont rnis
sous la garde d'inspecteurs. Les architectes du Pharaon s'occupent
de batisses d'apres l'ordre du Pbaraon. Les carrieres, a partir de
celles du Mokattam (le Toora de nos jours) jusqu'a celles d'Assouan,
se trouvent exploitees par des chefs qui surveillent le transport des
pierres tailles a la place de deur destination. Finalement la corvee
est dirigee par les cbefs des travaux publics." — " Histoire d'Bgypte,"
Brugsch; second edition, 1875; chap, v, pp. 34 and 35.

* The Pa-Rarneses of the Bible narrative was not the only Egyp-
tian city of that name. There was a Pa-Rameses near Memphis,
and another Pa-Remeses at Abou Simbel; and there may probably
have been many more.

RAMESES THE GREAT. 251

dentally discovered under the mounds of Tel-el- Yahoodeh,*
about twelve miles to the northeast of Cairo. There are
probably fifty such mounds, none of which have been
opened, in the delta alone; and it is no exaggeration to say
that there must be some hundreds between the Mediterra-
nean and the first cataract.

An inscription found of late years at Abydos shows that
Rameses II reigned over his great kingdom for the space of
sixty-seven years. "It is thou," says Rameses IV, address-
ing himself to Osiris, "it is thou who wilt rejoice me with
such length of reign as Rameses II, the great god, in his
sixty-seven years. It is thou who wilt give me the long
duration of this great reign. "\

If only we knew at what age Rameses II succeeded to
the throne, we should, by help of this inscription, know
also the age at which he died. No such record has, how-
ever, transpired, but a careful comparison of the length of
time occupied by the various events of his reign, and above
all the evidence of age afforded by the mummy of this
great Pharaoh, discovered in 1886, show that he must
have been very nearly, if not quite, a centenarian.

* " The remains were apparently those of a large hall paved with
white alabaster slabs. The walls were covered with a variety of
bricks and encaustic tiles; many of the bricks were of most beautiful
workmanship, the hieroglyphs in some being inlaid in glass. The
capitals of the columns were inlaid with brilliant colored mosaice,
and a pattern in mosaics ran round the cornice. Some of the bricks
are inlaid with the oval of Rameses III." See "Murray's Hand-book
for Egypt," route 7, p. 217.

Case I), in the second Egyptian room at the British Museum, con-
tains several of these, tiles and terra-cottas, some of which are painted
with figures of Asiatic and negro captives, birds serpents, etc.; and
are extremely beautiful both as regards design and execution.
Marray is wrong, however, in attibuting the building to Rameses II.
The cartouches are those of Rameses III. The discovery was made
by some laborers in 1870.

Note to Second Edition. — This mound was excavated last year
(1887) by M. Naville, acting as before for the Egypt Exploration
Fund. See supplementary sheet to The Illustrated London News,
17th September, 1887, containing a complete account of the excava-
tions at Tel-el- Yahoodeh, etc., with illustrations.

f This tablet is votive, and contains in fact a long Pharisaic prayer
offered to Osiris by Rameses IV in the fourth year of his reign.
The king enumerates his own virtues and deeds of piety, and
implores the god to grant him length of days. See " Sur une
Stele inedite d'Abydos," par P. Pierret. " Revue Archeologique,
vol. xix, p. 273.

252 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

" Thou madest designs while yet in the age of infancy/'
says the stela of Dakkeh. " Thou wert a boy wearing the
sidelock, and no monument was erected and no order was
given without thee. Thou wert a youth aged ten years,
and all the public works were in thy hands, laying their
foundations." These lines, translated literally, cannot,
however, be said to prove much. They certainly contain
nothing to show that this youth of ten was, at the time
alluded to, sole king and ruler of Egypt. That he
was titular king, in the hereditary sense, from his
birth* and during the lifetime of his father, is now
quite certain. That he should, as a boy, have designed
public buildings and superintended their construction is
extremely probable. The office was one which might well
have been discharged by a crown prince who delighted in
architecture and made it his peculiar study. It was, in
fact, a very noble office — an office which from the earliest
days of the ancient empire had constantly been confided
to princes of the royal blood ;f but it carried with it no
evidence of sovereignty. The presumption, therefore,

* M. Mariette, in his great work on Abydos, lias argued that
Rameses II was designated during the lifetime of his father by a
cartouche signifying only Ra- User-Ma/ and that he did not take the
additional Setp-en-Ra till after the death of Seti I. The Louvre,
however, contains a fragment of bas-relief representing the infant
Rameses with the full title of his later years. This important frag-
ment is thus described by M. Paul Pierret: " Rameses II enfant,
represent! assis sur le signe des montagnes du: c'est une assimilation
au soleil levant lorsqu'il ('merge a l'horizon celeste. II porte la main
gauche a sa bouche, en signe d'enfance. La main droite pend
sur les genoux. II est vetu d'une longue robe. La tresse de l'en-
fance pend sur son epaule. Un diademe relie ses cheveux, et un
uraeus se dresse sur son front. Yoici la traduction de la courte
legende qui accompagne cette representation. ' Le roi de la Haute
et de la Basse Egypte, maitre des deux pays, Ra- User-Ma Setp-en-Ra,
vivificateur, eternel comme le soleil.'" — "Catalogue de la Salle
Historique." P. Pierret. Paris, 1873, p. 8.

M. Maspero is of opinion that this one fragment establishes the
disputed fact of his actual sovereignty from early childhood, and so
disposes of the entire question. See " LTnscription dedicatoire du
Temple d' Abydos, suivi d'un Essai Sur la jeunesse de Sesostris."
G. Maspero. 4° Paris, 1867. See also chap, viii (foot note), p. 126.

f " Le metier d'architecte se trouvait confie aux plus hauts dig-
nitaires de la cour Pharaonique. Les architectes du roi, les Murket,
se recrutaient assezsouvent parmi le nombre des princes." — "Histoire
d'Egypte:" Brugsch, second edition, 1875, chap, v, p. 34.

R AMESES THE GREAT. 253

would be that the stela of Dakkeh (dating as it does from
the third year of the sole reign of Rameses II) alludes to
a time long since past, when the king as a boy held office
under his father.

The same inscription, as we have already seen, makes
reference to the victorious campaign in the south. Rame-
ses is addressed as "the bull powerful against Ethiopia;
the griffin furious against the negroes;" and that the events
hereby alluded to must have taken place during the first
three years of his sole reign is proved by the date of the
tablet. The great dedicatory inscription' of Abydos shows,
in fact, that' Rameses II was prosecuting a campaign
in Ethiopia at the time when he received intelligence of
the deatli of his father and that he came down the Nile,
northward, in order, probably, to be crowned at Thebes.*

Now the famous sculptures of the commemorative chapel
at Bayt-el- Welly relate expressly to the events of this
expedition; and as they are executed in that refined and
delicate style which especially characterizes the bas-relief
work of Gourmah, of Adydos, of all those buildings which
were either erected by Seti I or begun by Seti and finished
(luring the early years of Rameses II, I venture to think
we may regard them as contemporary, or very nearly con-
temporary, with the scenes they represent. In any case,
it is reasonable to conclude that the artists employed on
the work would know something about the events and per-
sons delineated and that they would be guilty of no glaring
inaccuracies.

All doubt as to whether the dates refer to the associated
reigns of Seti and Rameses, or to the sole reign of the
latter, vanish, however, when in these same sculptures f
we find the conqueror accompanied by his son, Prince
Amenheikhopeshef, who is of an age not only to bear his
part in the field, but afterward to conduct an important
ceremony of state on the occasion of the submission and
tribute offering of the Ethiopian commander. Such is the
unmistakable evidence of the bas-reliefs at Bayt-el- Welly,
as those who cannot go to Bayt-et- Welly may see and judge
for themselves by means of the admirable casts of these

* See " ^Inscription dedicatoire du Temple d'Abydos," etc., by G.
Maspero.

f See Rosellini, Monumenti Storici, pi. lxxi.

254 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

great tableaux which line the walls of the second Egyptian
room at the British Museum. To explain away Prince
Amenherkhopeshef would be difficult. We are accus-
tomed to a certain amount of courtly exaggeration on the
part of those who record with pen or pencil the great deeds
of the Pharaohs. We expect to see the king always young,
always beautiful, always victorious. It seems only right
and natural that he should be never less than twenty and
sometimes more than sixty feet in height. But that any
flatterer should go so far as to credit a lad of thirteen with
a son at least as old as himself is surely quite incredible.

Lastly, there is the evidence of the Bible.

Joseph being dead and the Israelites established in
Egypt, there comes to the throne a Pharaoh who takes
alarm at the increase of this alien race and who seeks to
check their too rapid multiplication. He not only
oppresses the foreigners, but ordains that every male infant
born to them in their bondage shall be cast into the river.
This Pharaoh is now universally believed to be Rameses II.
Then comes the old, sweet, familiar Bible story that we
know so well. Moses is born, cast adrift in the ark of bul-
rushes and rescued by the king's daughter. He becomes
to her "as a son." Although no dates are given, it is
clear that the new Pharaoh has not been long upon the
throne when these events happen. It is equally clear that
he is no mere youth. He is old in the uses of state-craft ;
and he is the father of a princess of whom it is difficult to
suppose that she was herself an infant.

On the whole, then, we can but conclude that Rameses
II, though born a king, was not merely grown to man-
hood, but wedded, and the father of children already past
the period of infancy, before he succeeded to the sole ex-
ercise of sovereign power. This is, at all events, the view
taken by Professor Maspero, who expressly says, in the
latest edition of his " Histoire Ancienne," "that Rameses
II, when he received news of the death of his father, was
then in the prime of life and surrounded by a large
family, some of whom were of an age to fight under his
command." *

Brugsch places the birth of Moses in the sixth year of

* " A la nouvelle de la niort de son pere, Ramses II desormais seul
roi, quitta PEthiopie et ceignit la couronne a Thebes. II etait alors
dans la plenitude deses forces, et avait autour de lui un grand nonibro

RAMESES THE GREAT. 255

the reign of Rameses II. * This may very well be. The
fourscore years that elapsed between that time and the
time of the exodus correspond with sufficient exactness to
the chronological data furnished by the monuments.
Moses would thus see out the sixty-one remaining years of
the king's long life, and release the Israelites from bond-
age toward the close of the reign of Menepthah, f who sat
for about twenty years on the throne of his fathers. The
correspondence of dates this time leaves nothing to be
desired.

The Sesostris of Diodorus Siculus went blind and died
by his own hand; which act, says the historian, as it con-
formed to the glory of his life, was greatly admired by his
people. We are here evidently in the region of pure fable.
Suicide was by no means an Egyptian, but a classical,
virtue. Just as the Greeks hated age, the Egyptians
reverenced it; and it may be doubted whether a people
who seem always to have passionately desired length of
days would have seen anything to admire in a willful short-

d'enfants, dont quelques-uns etaient assez ages pour combattre sous
ses ordres."— " Histoire Ancienne des Peuples de l'Orient," par G.
Maspero, chap, v, p. 220. 4tli edition, 1886.

* " Comiue Ramses II regna 60 ans, le regne de son successeur sous
lequel la sortie des Juifs eut lieu, embrassa la duree de 20 ans; et
counne Moi'se avait l'age de 80 ans au temps de la sortie, il en resulte
evidemment que les enfants d'Israel quitterent l'Egypte une des ces
derneires six annees du regne de Menepthah; c'est a dire entre 1327
et 1331 avant 1'ere chretienne. Si nous admettons que ce Pharaon
perit dans la mer, selon le rapport biblique, Moise sera ne 80 ans
avant 1321, on 1401 avant J. Chr., la sirieme annee de regne de Ram-
ses II."— "Histoire d'Kgypte," Brugscb, cbap. viii, p. 157. First
edition, Leipzig, 1859.

f If the exodus took place, however, during the opening years of
the reign of Menepthah, it becomes necessary either to remove the
birth of Moses to a correspondingly earlier date, or to accept the
amendment of Bunsen, who says ""we can hardly take literally the
statement as to the age of Moses at the exodus, twice over forty
years." Forty years is the mode of expressing a generation, from
thirty to thirty -three years. " Egypt's Place in Universal History,"
Bunsen, London, 1859, vol. iii, p. 184. That Meneptah did not him-
self perish with his host, seems certain. The final oppression of the
Hebrews and the miracles of Moses, as narrated in the Bible, give
one the impression of having all happened within a comparatively
short space of time; and cannot have extended over a period of
twenty years. Neither is it stated that Pharaoh perished. The tomb
of Menepthah, in fact, is found in the valley of the tombs of the
kings (tomb No. 8).

256 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

ening of that most precious gift of the gods. With the
one exception of Cleopatra — the death of Nitocris the
rosy-cheeked being also of Greek,* and therefore question-
able, origin — no Egyptian sovereign is known to have com-
mitted suicide ; and even Cleopatra, who was half Greek
by birth, must have been influenced to the act by Greek
and Roman example. Dismissing, then, altogether this
legend of his blindness and self-sl a tighter, it must be ad-
mitted that of the death of Rameses II Ave know nothing
certain.

Such are, very briefly, the leading facts of the history
of this famous Pharaoh. Exhaustively treated, they would
expand into a volume. Even then, however, one would
ask, and ask in vain, what manner of man he was. Every
attempt to evolve his personal character from these scanty
data is in fact a mere exercise of fancy, f That he was
personally valiant may be gathered with due reservation,
from the poem of Pentaur ; and that he was not unmerci-
ful is shown in the extradition clause of the Khetan
treaty. His pride was evidently boundless. Every temple
which he erected was a monument to his own glory; every
colossus was a trophy; every inscription a paean of self-
praise. At Abou Simbel, at Derr, at Gerf Hossayn, he
seated his own image in the sanctuary among the images
of the gods. J There are even instances in which he is

*Herodotus, book ii.

f Rosellini, for instance, carries hero-worship to its extreme limit when
he not only states that Rameses the Great had, by bis conquests, filled
Egypt with luxuries that contributed alike to the graces of every-day
life and the security of tbe state, but (accepting as sober fact tbe
complimentary language of a triumphal tablet) adds, that " universal
peace even secured to him tbe love of the vanquished " (l'universal
pace assicurata dall' amore dei vinti stessi pel Faraone). — "Mon.
Storici," vol. iii, part ii, p. 294. Bunsen, equally prejudiced in tbe
opposite direction, can see no trait of magnanimity or goodness in one
whom he loves to depict as " an unbridled despot, wbo took advan-
tage of a reign of almost unparalelled lengtb, and of tbe acquisitions
of his father and ancestors, in order to torment his own subjects and
strangers to the utmost of his power, and to employ them as instru-
ments of his passion for war and building." — " Egypt's Place in Uni-
versal History," Bunsen, vol. iii, book iv, part ii, p. 184.

% " Souvent il s'introduit lui meine dans les triades divines aux-
quelles il dedie les temples. Le soldi de Ramses Me'iamaun qu'on
apercoit sur leur murailles, n'est autre chose que le roi lui-meme
deifie de son vivant." — "Notice des Monuments Egyptiennes an
Musee du Louvre." De Rouge, Paris, 1875, p. 20.

R AMESES THE GREAT. 257

depicted under the twofold aspect of royalty and divinity —
Rameses the Pharaoh burning incense before Rameses the
Deity.

For the rest, it is safe to conclude that he was neither
better nor worse than the general run of oriental despots —
that he was ruthless in war, prodigal in peace, rapacious of
booty and unsparing in the exercise of almost boundless
power. Such pride and such despotism were, however, in
strict accordance with immemorial precedent and with
the temper of the age in which he lived. The Egyptians
would seem beyond all doubt to have believed that their
king was always in some sense divine. They wrote hymns*
and offered up prayers to him, and regarded him as the
living representative of deity. His princes and ministers
habitually addressed him in the language of worship.
Even his wives, who ought to have known better, are repre-
sented in the performance of acts of religious adoration be-
fore him. What wonder, then, if the man so deified be-
lieved himself a god?

* See Hymn to Pharaoh (Menepthali), translated by C. W. (iood-
\'\fl, M. A. " Records of the Past," vol. vi, p. 101.

258 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER XVI.

ABOU SIMBEL.

We came to Abou Simbel on the night of the 31st of
January and we left at sunset on the 18th of February.
Of these eighteen clear days we spent fourteen at the foot
of the rock of the great temple, called in the old Egyptian
tongue the Rock of Abshek. The remaining four (taken
at the end of the first week and the beginning of the
second) were passed in the excursion to Wady-Halfeh and
back. By thus dividing the time our long sojourn was
made less monotonous for those who had no especial work
to do.

Meanwhile it was wonderful to wake every morning close
under the steep bank, and, without lifting one's head from
the pillow, to see that row of giant faces so close against
the sky. They showed unearthly enough by moonlight,
but not half so unearthly as in the gray of dawn. At that
hour, the most solemn of the twenty-four, they wore a
fixed and fatal look that was little less than appalling. As
the sky warmed this awful look was succeeded by a flush that
mounted and deepened like the rising flush of life. For a
moment they seemed to glow — to smile — to be transfigured.
Then came a flash, as of thought itself. It was the first in-
stantaneous flash of the risen sun. It lasted less than a
second. It was gone almost before one could say it was
there. The next moment mountain, river and sky were
distinct in the steady light of day; and the colossi— mere
colossi now — sat serene and stony in the open sunshine.

Every morning I waked in time to witness that daily
miracle. Every" morning I saw those awful brethren pass
from death to life, from fife to sculptured stone. I brought
myself almost to believe at last that there must sooner or
later come some one sunrise when the ancient charm
would snap asunder and the giants must arise and speak.

Stupendous as they are, nothing is more difficult than to

ABOU SIMBEL. 259

see the colossi properly. Standing between the rock and
the river one is too near ; stationed on the island opposite
one is too far off ; while from the sand-slope only a side
view is obtainable. Hence, for want of a fitting stand-
point, many travelers have seen nothing but deformity in
the most perfect face handed down to us by Egyptian art.
One recognizes in it the negro and one the Mongolian
type ;* while another admires the fidelity with which " the
Nubian characteristics" have been seized.

Yet, in truth, the head of the young Augustus is not
cast in a loftier mold. These statues are portraits — por-
traits of the same man four times repeated ; and that man
is Rameses the Great.

Now, Rameses, the Great if he was as much like his
portraits as his portraits are like each other, must have
been one of the handsomest men, not only of his own day,
but of all history. Wheresoever we meet with him,
whether in the fallen colossus at Memphis or in the syenite
torso of the British Museum, or among the innumerable
bas-reliefs of Thebes, Abydos, Goumah, and Bayt-elAVelly,
his features (though bearing in some instances the impress
of youth and in others of maturity) are always the same.
The face is oval; the eyes are long, prominent, and heavy-
lidded; the nose is slightly aquiline and characteristically

* The late Vicomte E. de Rouge, in a letter to M. Guigniaut on the
discoveries at Tanis, believes that he detects the Semitic type in the
portraits of Rameses II and Seti I ; and even conjectures that the
Pharaohs of the ninteenth dynasty may have descended from Hyksos
ancestors : " L'origine de la famille des Ramses nous est jusqu' ici
completement inconnue ; sa predilection pour le dieu Set on Sutech,
qui eclate des Fabord par le nom de Seti 1 (Sethos), ainsi que d'autres
indices, pouvaient deja engager a la reporter vers la Basse Egypte.
Nous savions nieine que Ramses II avait epouse une fille du Prince
de Khet, quand le traite de l'an 22 eut ramene la paix entre les deux
pays. Le profil tres-decidement semitique de Seti et de Ramses se
distinguait nettement des figures ordinaires de nos Pharaons The-
bains." (See "Revue Archeologique, vol. ix, A. D. 1864.) In the
course of the same letter, M. de Rouge adverts to the magnificent
restoration of the temple of Sutech at Tanis (San), by Rameses II and
to the curious fact that the god is there represented with the peculiar
head-dress worn elsewhere by the Prince of Kheta.

It is to be remembered, however, that the patron deity of Rameses
II was Amen-Ra. His homage of Sutech (which might possibly have
been a concession to his Khetan wife) seems to have been confined
almost exclusively to Tanis, where Ma-at-iri-neferu-Ra may be sup-
posed to have resided.

260

A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

depressed at the tip ; the nostrils are open and sensitive ;
the under lip projects; the chin is short and square.

Here, for instance, is an outline from a bas-relief at

Bay t-el- Welly. The subject is commemorative of the

king's first campaign. A beardless youth, fired with the

rage of battle, he clutches a captive by the hair and lifts

his mace to slay. In this delicate and

Dantesque face, which lacks as yet the

fullness and repose of the later portraits,

we recognize all the distinctive traits of

the older Eameses.

Here, again, is a sketch from Abydos,

in which the king, although he has not

'>. yet ceased to wear the side-lock of youth,

*• is seen with a boyish beard, and looks

some three or four years older than in the previous

portrait.

It is interesting to compare these
heads with the accompanying profile
of one of the caryatid colossi inside
the great temple of Abou Simbel; and
all three with one of the giant portraits
of the facade. This last, whether re-
garded as a marvel of size or of por-
taiture, is the chef-d'oeuvre of Egyp-
tian sculpture. We here see the great king in his prime.
His features are identical with those of the
head at Bayt-el-Welly ; but the contours are
more amply filled in and the expression is
altogether changed. The man is full fifteen
or twenty years older. He has outlived that
rage of early youth. He is no longer impul-
sive, but implacable. A godlike serenity, an
almost superhuman pride, an immutable will,
breathe from the sculptured stone. He has
learned to believe his prowess irresistible and
himself almost divine. If he now raised
his arm to slay it would be with the stern placidity of a
destroying angel.

The annexed wood-cut gives the profile of the southern-
most colossus, which is the only perfect — or very nearly per-
fect— one of the four. The original can be correctly
seen from but one point of view ; and that point is

ABOU S1MBEL.

261

PROFILE OF RAMESES II.

(From the southermost colossus, Abou Simbel.)

262 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

where the sand -slope meets the northern buttress of the
facade, at a level just parallel with the beards of the
statues. It was thence that the present outline was taken.
The sand-slope is steep and loose and hot to the feet. More
disagreeable climbing it would be hard to find, even in
Nubia; but no traveler who refuses to encounter this small
hardship need believe that he has seen the faces of the
colossi.

Viewed from below, this beautiful portrait is foreshort-
ened out of all proportion. It looks unduly wide from ear
to ear, while the lips and the lower part of the nose show
relatively larger than the rest of the features. The same
may be said of the great cast in the British Museum.
Cooped up at the end of a narrow corridor and lifted not
more than fifteen feet above the ground, it is carefully
placed so as to be wrong from every point of view and
shown to the greatest possible disadvantage.

The artists who wrought the original statues were, how-
ever, embarrassed by no difficulties of focus, daunted by no
difficulties of scale. Giants themselves, they summoned
these giants from out the solid rock and endowed them
with superhuman strength and beauty. They sought no
quarried blocks of syenite or granite for their work. They
fashioned no models of clay. They took a mountain and
fell upon it like Titans and hollowed and carved it as
though it were a cherry stone; and left it for the feebler
men of after ages to marvel at forever. One great hall and
fifteen spacious chambers they hewed out from the heart of
it, then smoothed the rugged precipice toward the river,
and cut four huge statues with their faces to the sunrise,
two to the right and two to the left of the doorway, there
to keep watcli to the end of time.

These tremendous warders sit sixty-six feet high, without
the platform under their feet. They measure across the chest
twenty-five feet and four inches; from the shoulder to the
elbow fifteen feet and six inches; from the inner side of the
elbow joint to the tip of the middle finger, fifteen feet; and
so on, in relative proportion. If they stood up, they would
tower to a height of at least eighty-three feet, from the soles
of their feet to the tops of their enormous double-crowns.

Nothing in Egyptian sculpture is perhaps quite so won-
derful as the way in which these Abou Simbel artists dealt
with the thousands of tons of material to which they here

ABOU SIMBEL. 263

gave human form. Consummate masters of effect, they
knew precisely what to do and what to leave undone.
These were portrait statues; therefore they finished the
heads up to the highest point consistent with their size.
But the trunk and the lower limbs they regarded from a
decorative rather than a statuesque point of view. As
decoration, it was necessary that they should give size and
dignity to the facade. Everything, consequently, was
here subordinated to the general effect of breadth, of mas-
siveness, of repose. Considered thus, the colossi are a
triumph of treatment. Side by side they sit, placid and
majestic, their feet a little apart, their hands resting on
their knees. Shapely though they are, those huge legs
look scarcely inferior in girth to the great columns of Kar-
nak. The articulations of the knee-joint, the swell of the
calf, the outline of the peroneus longus are indicated rather
than developed. The toe-nails and toe-joints are given in
the same bold and general way; but the fingers, because
only the tips of them could be seen from below, are treated
en bloc.

The faces show the same largeness of style. The little
dimple which gives such sweetness to the corners of the
mouth, and the tiny depression in the lobe of the ear, are,
in fact, circular cavities as large as saucers.

How far this treatment is consistent with the most per-
fect delicacy and even finesse of execution may be gathered
from the sketch. The nose there shown in profile is three
feet and a half in length; the mouth, so delicately curved,
is about the same in width; even the sensitive nostril,
which looks ready to expand with the breath of life,
exceeds eight inches in length. The ear (which is placed
high and is well detached from the head) measures three
feet and five inches from top to tip.

A recent writer,* who brings sound practical knowledge

* " L 'absence de points fouilles, la simplification voulue, la restric-
tion desdetails et des orneinents a quelques sillons plus ou moins
bardis, l'engorgement de toutes les parties delicates, demontrent que
les Egyptiens etaient loin ^d'avoir des precedes et des facilites in-
connus." — " La Scripture Egyptienne," par Eniile Soldi, p. 48.

" Un fait qui nous parait avoir du entraver les progres de la sculp-
ture, c'est l'babitude probable des sculpteurs ou entrepreneurs
Egyptiens d'entre prendre le travail a meme sur la pierre, sans avoir
prealablement cbercbe le niodele en terre glaise, conime on le fait de
nos jours. Une Ms le niodele fini, on le moule et on le reproduit

264 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

to bear upon the subject, is of opinion that the Egyptian
sculptors did not even " point" their work beforehand. If
so, then the marvel is only so much the greater. The men
who, working in so coarse and friable a material, could not
only give beauty and finish to heads of this size, but could,
with barbaric tools, hew them out ab initio, from the
natural rock, were the Michael Angelos of their age.

It has already been said that the last Eameses to the
southward is the best preserved. His left arm and hand
are injured, and the head of the urasus sculptured on the
front of the pschent is gone; but with these exceptions the
figure is as whole, as fresh in surface, as sharp in detail, as
on the day it was completed. The next is shattered to the
waist. His head lies at his feet, half-buried in sand. The
third is nearly as perfect as the first; while the fourth has
lost not only the whole beard and the greater part of the
urams, but has both arms broken away and a big, cavern-
ous hole in the front of the body. From the double-crowns
of the two last the top ornament is also missing. It looks
a mere knob; but it measures eight feet in height.

Such an effect does the size of these four figures produce
on the mind of the sjiectator that he scarcely observes the
fractures they have sustained. I do not remember to have
even missed the head and body of the shattered one,
although nothing is left of it above the knees. Those
huge legs and feet, covered with ancient inscriptions,*

mathematiquernent definitive. Ce procede a toujours ete employe
dans les grandes epoques de l'art; et il ne nous a pas seinble qu'il ait
jamais ete en usage en Egypte." — Ibid, p. 82.

M. Soldi is also of opinion that the Egyptian sculptors were igno-
rant of many of the most useful tools known to the Greek, Roman, and
modern sculptors, such as the emery-tube, the diamond-point, etc.

* On the left leg of this colossus is the famous Greek inscription
discovered by Messrs. Bankes and Salt. It dates from the reign of
Psamatichus I, and purports to have been cut by a certain Da-
rnearchon, one of the two hundred and forty thousand Egyptian
troops of whom it is related by Herodotus (book ii, chaps, xxix and
xxx) that they deserted because they were kept in garrison at Syene for
three years without being relieved. The inscription, as translated
by Colonel Leake, is thus given in Rawlingson's "Herodotus" (vol. ii,
p. 37); "King Psamatichus having come to Elephantine, those who
were with Psamatichus, the son of Theocles, wrote this: 'They sailed,
and came to above Kerkis, to where the river rises . . . the
Egyptian Amasis. . . .' The writer is Damearchon, the son of
Aincebichus, and Pelephus (Pelekos), the son of Udamus." The

ABOU SIMBEL. 205

some of Greek, some of Phoenician origin, tower so high
above the heads of those who look at them from below
that one scarcely thinks of looking higher still.

The figures are naked to the waist and clothed in the
usual striped tunic. On their heads they wear the double-
crown, and on their necks rich collars of cabochon drops
cut in very low relief. The feet are bare of sandals and
the arms of bracelets; but in the front of the body, just
where the customary belt and buckle would come, are
deep holes in the stone, such as might have been made to
receive rivets, supposing the belts to have been made of
bronze or gold. On the breast, just below the necklace,
and on the upper part of each arm, are cut in magnificent
ovals, between four and five feet in length, the ordinary
cartouches of the king. These were probably tattooed
upon his person in the flesh.

Some have supposed that these statues were originally
colored, and that the color may have been effaced by the
ceaseless shifting and blowing of the sand. Yet the drift
was probably at its highest when Burckhardt discovered
the place in 1813 ; and on the two heads that were still
above the surface he seems to have observed no traces of
color. Neither can the keenest eye detect any vestige of
that delicate film of stucco with which the Egyptians in-
variably prepared their surfaces for painting. Perhaps the
architects were for once content with the natural color of
the sandstone, which is here very rich and varied. It
happens, also, that the colossi come in a light-colored vein
of the rock, and so sit relieved against a darker back-
ground. Toward noon, when the level of the facade has
just passed into shade and the sunlight still strikes upon
the statues, the effect is quite startling. The whole thing,
which is then best seen from the island, looks like a huge
onyx-cameo cut in high relief.

A statue of Ra,* to whom the temple is dedicated, stands
some twenty feet high in a niche over the doorway, and is
supported on either side by a bas-relief portrait of the
king in an attitude of worship. Next above these comes a
superb hieroglyphic inscription reaching across the whole

king Psainatickus here named has been identified with the Psamtik
I of the inscriptions. It was in his reign, and not as it has some-
times been supposed, in the reign of Psamatichus II, that the great
military defection took place.

206 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

front; above the inscription, a band of royal cartouches ;
above the cartouches, a frieze of sitting apes; above the
apes, last and highest, some fragments of a cornice. The
height of the whole may have been somewhat over a hun-
dred feet. Wherever it has been possible to introduce
them as decoration, we see the ovals of the king. Under
those sculptured on the platform and over the door I ob-
served the hieroglypic character / * \lf #/ * ■. which, in con-
junction with the sign known ^ V^l/ J as the deter-
minative of metals, signifies gold (nub) ; but when
represented, as here, without the determinative, stands for
Nubia, the Land of Gold. This addition, which I do not
remember to have seen elsewhere in connection with the
cartouches of Rameses II, f is here used in an heraldic
sense, as signifying the sovereignty of Nubia.

The relative positions of the two temples of Abou Simbel
have been already described — how they are excavated in two
adjacent mountains and divided by a cataract of sand.
The front of the small temple lies parallel to the course of
the Nile, here flowing in a northeasterly direction. The
facade of the great temple is cut in the flank of the mount-
ain and faces due east. Thus the colossi, towering above
the shoulder of the sand-drift, catch, as it were, a side view
of the small temple and confront vessels coming up the
river. As for the sand-drift, it curiously resembles the
glacier of the Rhone. In size, in shape, in position, in
all but color and substance, it is the same. Pent in be-
tween the rocks at top, it opens out like a fan at bottom.
In this, its inevitable course, it slants downward across the

* Ra, the principal solar divinity, generally represented with the
head of a hawk and the sun-disk on his head. " Ra veut dlrefaire,
disposer; c'est, en effet, le dieu Ra qui a disposie organse le monde,
dont la matierejui a ete donnee par Ptah." — P. Pierret: " Dictionaire
d'Archeologie Egyptienne."

" Ra est une autre des intelligence demiurgiques. Ptah avait
cree le soleil; le soleil, a son tour, est le createur des etres, animaux
et homines. II est a l'hemisphere superieure ce qu'Osiris est a
l'hemisphere inferieure. Ra s'incarne a, Heliopis." — A. Mariette:
"Notice des Monuments a Boulak," p. 123.

f An instance occurs, however, in a small inscription sculptured
on the rocks of the Island of Sehayl in the first cataract, which
records the second panegyry of the reign of Rameses II. — See " Re-
cuil des Monuments, etc.:" B-rugsch, vol. ii, Planche lxxxii, Inscrip-
tion No. 6.

ABOU SIMBEL. 267

facade of the great temple. Forever descending, drifting,
accumulating, it wages the old stealthy war; and, un-
hasting, unresting, labors, grain by grain, to fill the hol-
lowed chambers and bury the great statues and wrap the
whole temple in a winding-sheet of golden sand, so that
the place thereof shall know it no more.

It had very nearly come to this when Burckhardt went
up (a. d. 1813). The top of the doorway was then thirty
feet below the surface. Whether the sand will ever reach
that height again must depend on the energy with which
it is combated. It can only be cleared as it accumulates.
To avert it is impossible. Backed by the illimitable wastes
of the Libyan desert, the supply from above is inex-
haustible, borne it must; and come it will, to the end of
time.

The drift rose to the lap of the northernmost colossus
and half-wav up the legs of the next when the Philaj lay
at Abou Simbel. The doorway was clear, however, almost
to the threshold, and the sand inside was not more than
two feet deep in the first hall. The whole facade, we were
told, had been laid bare, and the interior swept and gar-
nished, when the Empress of the French, after opening the
Suez Canal in 1SG9, went up the Nile as far as the second
cataract. By this time, most likely, that yellow carpet lies
thick and soft in every chamber, and is fast silting up the
doorway again.

How well I remember the restless excitement of our first
day at Abou Simbel! While the morning was yet cool, the
painter and writer wandered to and fro, comparing and
selecting points of view and superintending the pitching
of their tents. The painter planted his on the very brink
of the bank, face to face witli the colossi and the open door-
way. The writer perched some forty feet higher on the pitch
of the sandslope; so getting a side view of the facade and
a peep of distance looking up the river. To fix the tent
up there was no easy matter. It was only by sinking the
tent-pole in a hole filled with stones that it could be
trusted to stand against the steady push of the north wind,
which at this season is almost always blowing.

Meanwhile the travelers from the other dahabeeyahs
were tramping backward and forward between the two
temples; filling the air with laughter and waking strange
echoes in the hollow mountains. As the day wore on,

268 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

however, they returned to their boats, which one by one
spread their sails and bore away for Wady Halfeh.

When they were fairly gone and we had the marvelous
place all to ourselves we went to see the temples.

The smaller one, though it comes first in order of sail-
ing, is generally seen last ; and seen therefore to dis-
advantage. To eyes fresh from the " Abode of Ra," the
"Abode of Hathor" looks less than its actual size; which
is, in fact, but little inferior to that of the temple at Derr.
A first hall, measuring some forty feet in length by twenty-
one in width, leads to a transverse corridor, two side-
chambers, and a sanctuary seven feet square, at the upper
end of which are the shattered remains of a cow-headed
statue of Hathor. Six square pillars, as at Derr, support
what, for want of a better word, one must call the ceiling
of the hall ; though the ceiling is, in truth, the super-
incumbent mountain.

In this arrangement, as in the general character of the
bas-relief sculptures which cover the walls and pillars,
there is much simplicity, much grace, but nothing particu-
larly new. The facade, on the contrary, is a daring innova-
tion. Here the whole front is but a frame for six recesses,
from each of which a colossal statue, erect and lifelike, seems
to be walking straight out from the heart of the mountain.
These statues, three to the right and three to the left of
the doorway, stand thirty feet high, and represent Rame-
ses II and Nefertari, his queen. Mutilated as they are,
the male figures are full of spirit and the female figures
full of grace. The queen wears on her head the plumes
and disk of Hathor. The king is crowned with the
pschent and with a fantastic helmet adorned with plumes
and horns. They have their children with them ; the
queen her daughters, the king his sons — infants of ten
feet high, whose heads just reach to the parental knee.

The walls of these six recesses, as they follow the slope
of the mountain, form massive buttresses, the effect of
which is wonderfully bold in light and shadow. The
doorway gives the only instance of a porch that we saw in
either Egypt or Nubia. The superb hieroglyphs which
cover the faces of these buttresses and the front of this
porch are cut half a foot deep into the rock and are so
large that they can be read from the island in the middle
of the river. The tale they tell — a tale retold in many

ABOU SIMBEL. 269

varied turns of old Egyptian style upon the architraves
within — is singular and interesting.

"Barneses, the Strong in Truth, the Beloved of Amen,_
says the outer legend, "made this di vice abode* for his
royal wife, Nefertari, whom he loves."

The legend within, after enumerating the titles of the
king, records that "his royal wife who loves him, Nefer-
tarithe beloved of Maut, constructed for him this abode in
the mountain of the pure waters."

On every pillar, in every act of worship pictured on the
walls, even in the sanctuaVy, we find the names of Rameses
and Nefertari " coupled and inseparable. In this double
dedication and in the unwonted tenderness of the style
one seems to detect traces of some event, perhaps of some
anniversary, the particulars of which are lost for-
ever. It may have been a meeting ; it may have been a
parting ; it may have been a prayer answered or a vow
fulfilled. We see, at all events, that Rameses and Nefertari
desired to leave behind them an imperishable record of the
affection which united them on earth and which they
hoped would reunite them in Amemti. What more do we
need to know? We see that the cpieen was fair;f that the

* Though dedicated by Rameses to Nefertari, and by Nefertari to
Rameses "this temple was placed, primarily, under the patronage of
Hatbor, the supreme type of divine maternity. She is represented
bv Queen Nefertari, who appears on the facade as the mother of
six children and adorned with the attributes of the goddess. A
temple to Hatbor would also be, from a religious point of view, the
fitting pendant to a temple of Ra. M. Mariette, in his " Notice des
Monuments a Boulak," remarks of Hatbor that her functions are
still but imperfectly known to us. " Peutetre etait-elle a Ra ce que
Maut est a Amnion, le recipient oil le dieu s'engendre lui-meme
pour l'eternite."

+ It is not often that one can say of a female head in an Egyptian
wall painting that it is beautiful; but in these portraits of the queen,
many times repeated upon the walls of the first hall of the Temple of
Hatbor, there is, if not positive beauty according to our western
notions, much sweetness and much grace. The name of Nefertari
means perfect, good, or beautiful companion. That the word
"Nefer" should mean both good and beautiful— in fact, that beauty and
goodness should be synonymous terms— is not merely interesting as it
indicates a lofty philosophical standpoint, but as it reveals, perhaps,
the latent germ 'of that doctrine which was hereafter to be taught with
such brilliant results in the Alexandrian schools. It is remarkable
that the word for truth and justice {Ma) was also one and the same.

There is often a quaint significance about Egyptian proper names

270 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

king was in his prime. We divine the rest; and the poetry
of the place, at all events, is ours. Even in these barren
solitudes there is wafted to us a breath from the shores of
old romance. We feel that Love once jmssed this way and
that the ground is still hallowed where he trod.

We hurried on to the great temple, without waiting to
examine the lesser one in detail. A solemn twilight
reigned in the first hall, beyond which all was dark.
Eight colossi, four to the right and four to the left, stand
ranged down the center, bearing the mountain on their
heads. Their height is twenty-five feet. With hands
crossed on their breasts, they clasp the flail and crook —
emblems of majesty and dominion. It is the attitude of
Osiris, but the face is the face of Rameses II. Seen by
this dim light, shadowy, mournful, majestic, they look as
i'f they remembered the past.

Beyond the first hall lies a second hall supported on four
square pillars; beyond this, again, a transverse chamber,
the walls of which are covered with colored bas-reliefs of
various gods; last of all, the sanctuary. Here, side by
side, sit four figures larger than life — Ptah, Amen-Ra, Ra
and Rameses deified. Before them stands an altar, in
shape a truncated pyramid, cut from the solid rock.
Traces of color yet linger on the garments of the statues ;
while in the walls on either side are holes and grooves such
as might have been made to receive a screen of metal-work.

The air in the sanctuary was heavy with an acrid smoke,
as if the priests had been burning some strange incense
and were only just gone. For this illusion we were
indebted to the visitors who had been there before us.
They had lit the place with magnesian wire ; the vapor of
which lingers long in these unventilated vaults.

To settle down then and there to a steady investigation
of the wall-sculptures was impossible. We did not attempt
it. Wandering from hall to hall, from chamber to cham-
ber ; now trusting to the faint gleams that straggled in

which reminds one of the names that came into favor in England under
the commonwealth. Take, forinstance, Bak-en-Khonsu, Servant-of-
Khons; Pa-ta-Amen, the Gift of Amnion; Renpitnefer, Good-year;
Nub-en Tekh, Worth-Her-Weight-in-Gold (both women's names); and
Hor-mes-ouV-a-Shu, Horns Son-of-the-Eye-of-Shu — which last, as a
tolerably long compound, may claim relationship with Praise-God
l'arebones, Hew-Agag-in Pieces-before-the-Lord, etc.

ABOU SIMBEL. 271

from without, now stumbling along by the light of a bunch
of candles tied to the end of a stick, we preferred to
receive those first impressions of vastness, of mystery, of
gloomy magnificance, which are the more profound for
being somewhat vague and general.

Scenes of war, of triumph, of worship, passed before our
eyes like the incidents of a panorama. Here the king,
borne along at full gallop by plumed steeds gorgeously
caparisoned, draws his mighty bow and attacks a battle-
mented fortress. The besieged, some of whom are trans-
fixed by his tremendous arrows, supplicate for mercy. They
are a Syrian people and are by some identified with the
northern Hittites. Their skin is yellow; and they wear
the long hair and beard, the fillet, the rich robe, fringed
cape and embroidered baldric with which we are familiar
in the Nineveh sculptures. A man driving off cattle in
the foreground looks as if he had stepped out of one of the
tablets in the British Museum. Rameses meanwhile
towers, swift and godlike, above the crowd. His coursers
are of such immortal strain as were the coursers of
Achilles. His sons, his whole army, chariot and horse,
follow headlong at his heels. All is movement and the
splendor of battle.

Farther on we see the king returning in state, preceded
by his prisoners of war. Tied together in gangs they stag-
ger as they go, with heads thrown back and hands uplifted.
These, however, are not Assyrians, but Abyssinians and
Nubians, so true to the type, so thick-lipped, fiat-nosed and
woolly-headed, that only the pathos of the expression saves
them from being ludicrous. It is naturalness pushed to
the verge of caricature.

A little farther still and we find Rameses leading a
string of these captives into the presence of Amen-Ra,
Mautand Khons — Amen-Ra weird and unearthly, with his
blue complexion and towering plumes ; Maut wearing the
crown of Upper Egypt ; Khons, by a subtle touch of flat-
tery, depicted with the features of the king. Again, to
right and left of the entrance, Rameses, thrice the size of
life, slays a group of captives of various nations. To the
left Amen-Ra, to the right Ra Harmachis,* approve and

* Ra Harrnachis, in Egyptian Har-ein-Khou-ti, personifies the sun
rising upon the eastern horizon.

272 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

jiccejjt the sacrifice. In the second hall we see, as usual,
the procession of the sacred bark. Ptah, Khem and Bast,
gorgeous in many-colored garments, gleam dimly, like fig-
ures in faded tapestry, from the walls of the transverse
corridor.

But the wonder of Abou Simbel is the huge subject on
the north side of the great hall. This is a monster battle-
piece which covers an area of fifty-seven feet seven inches
in length, by twenty-five feet four inches in height,
and contains over eleven hundred figures. Even the her-
aldic cornice of cartouches and asps which runs round the
rest of the ceiling is omitted on this side, so that the wall
is literally filled with the picture from top to bottom.

Fully to describe this huge design would take many
pages. It is a picture-gallery in itself. It represents not
a single action, but a whole campaign. It sets before us,
with Homeric simplicity, the pomp and circumstance of
Avar, the incidents of camp life and the accidents of the
open field. We see the enemy's city, with its battlemented
towers and triple moat; the besigers' camp and the pavil-
ion of the king; the march of infantry: the shock of
chariots; the hand-to-hand melee; the flight of the van-
quished; the triumph of the Pharaoh; the bringing in of
the prisoners; the counting of the hands of the slain. A
great river winds through the picture from end to end and
almost surrounds the invested city. The king in his chariot
pursues a crowd of fugitives along the bank. Some are
crushed under his wheels; some plunge into the water and
are drowned.* Behind him, a moving wall of shields and
spears, advances with rhythmic step the serried phalanx;
while yonder, where the fight is thickest, we see chariots
overturned, men dead and dying, and riderless horses mak-
ing for the open. Meanwhile, the besieged send out
mounted scouts and the country folk drive their cattle to
the hills.

A grand frieze of chariots charging at full gallop divides
the subject lengthwise and separates the Egyptian camp
from the field of battle. The camp is square and inclosed,
apparently, in a palisade of shields. It occupies less than
one-sixth part of the picture and contains about a hundred
figures. Within this narrow space the artist has brought

*See chap, viii, p. 126, also chap. xxi.

ABOU SI MB EL. 2?3

together an astonishing variety of incidents. The horses
feed in rows from a common manger, or wait their turn
and impatiently paw the ground. Some are lying down.
One, just unharnessed, scampers round the inclosure.
Another, making off with the empty chariot at his heels,
is intercepted by a couple of grooms. Other grooms
bring buckets of water slung from the shoulders on wooden
yokes. A wounded officer sits apart, his head resting on his
hand; and an orderly comes in haste to bring him news of
the battle. Another, hurt apparently in the foot, is hav-
ing the wound dressed by a surgeon. Two detachments of
infantry, marching out to re-enforce their comrades in
action, are met at the entrance to the camp by the royal
chariot returning from the field. Rameses drives before
him some fugitives who are trampled down, seized and
dispatched upon the spot. In one corner stands a row of
objects that look like joints of meat; and near them are a
small altar and a tripod brazier. Elsewhere, a couple of
soldiers, with a big bowl between them, sit on their heels
and dip their fingers in the mess, precisely as every fellah
does to this day. Meanwhile, it is clear that Egyptian disci-
pline was strict and that the soldier who transgressed was
as abjectly subject to the rule of stick as his modern
descendant. In no less than three places do we see
this time-honored institution in full operation, the supe-
rior officer energetically flourishing his staff ; the private
taking his punishment with characteristic disrelish. In
the middle of the camp, watched over by his keeper, lies
Rameses' tame lion ; while close against the royal pavilion
a hostile spy is surprised and stabbed by the officer on
guard. The pavilion itself is very curious. It is evi-
dently not a tent but a building, and was probably an ex-
temporaneous construction of crude brick. It has four
arched doorways, and contains in one corner an object like
a cabinet, with two sacred hawks for supporters. This ob-
ject, which is in fact almost identical with the hieroglyphic
emblem used to express a royal panegyry or festival, stands,
no doubt, for the private oratory of the king. Five fig-
ures kneeling before it in adoration.

To enumerate all or half the points of interest in this
amazing picture would ask altogether too much space.
Even to see it, with time at command and all the help that
candles and magnesiau torches can give, is far from easy.

274 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

The relief is unusually low, and the surface, having origi-
nally been covered with stucco, is purposely roughened all
over with tiny chisel marks, which painfully confuse the
details. Nor is this all. Owing to some kind of saline
ooze in that part of the rock, the stucco has not only
peeled off, but the actual surface is injured. It seems to
have been eaten away, just as iron is eaten by rust. A few
patches adhere, however, in places, and retain the original
coloring. The river is still covered with blue and white
zigzags, to represents water; some of the fighting groups
are yet perfect; and two very beautiful royal chariots, one
of which is surmounted by a richly ornamented parasol-
canopy, are fresh and brilliant as ever.

The horses throughout are excellent. The chariot frieze
is almst Panathenaic in its effect of multitudinous move-
ment ; while the horses in the camp of Rameses, for natu-
ralness and variety of treatment, are perhaps the best that
Egyptian art has to show. It is worth noting, also, that
a horseman, that vara avis, occurs some four or five times
in different parts of the picture.

The scene of the campaign is laid in Syria. The river
of blue and white zigzags is the Orontes ;* the city of the
beseiged Kadesh or Kades ;f the enemy are the Kheta.
The whole is, in fact, a grand picture-epic of the events
immortalized in the poem of Pentaur — that poem which
M. de Rouge has described as "a sort of Egyption Iliad."
The comparison would, however, apply to the picture
with greater force than it applies to the poem. Pentaur,
who was in the first place a courtier and in the second
place a poet, has sacrificed everything to the prominence
of his central figure. He is intent upon the glorification
of the king ; and his poem, which is a mere pa?an of
praise, begins and ends with the prowess of Rameses Mer-
Amen. If, then, it is to be called an Iliad, it is an Iliad

* In Egyptian, Aaranatu.

f In Egyptian, Kateshu. "Aujourdbui encore 11 existe une ville
de Kades pres d'une courbe de POronte dans le voisinage de Horns."
Lecons de M. de Rouge, Professhsau College de France. See "Me-
langes d'Arcbeologie," Egyp. and Assyr., vol. ii, p. 269. Also a
valuable paper, entitled " Tbe Campaign of Rameses II Against
Kadesb," by tbe Rev. G. H. Tomkins, "Trans, of tbe Soc. of Bib.
Arcb., vol. viii, part 3, 1882. Tbe bend of tbe river is actually given
in tbe bas-reliefs.

ABO U SIMBEL. 275

from which everything that does not immediately concern
Archilles is left out. The picture, on the contrary,
though it shows the hero in combat and in triumph, and
always of colossal proportions, yet has space for a host of
minor characters. The episodes in which these characters
appear are essentially Homeric. The spy is surprised and
slain, as Dolon was slain by Ulysses. The men feast, and
fight, and are wounded, just like the long-haired sons of
Achaia ; -while their horses, loosed from the yoke, eat
white barley and oats:

"Hard by their chariots, waiting for the dawn."

Like Homer, too, the artist of the battle-piece is careful
to point out the distinguishing traits of the various com-
batants. The Khetas go three in a chariot ; the -Egyp-
tians only two. The Khetas wear a mustache and scalp-
lock; the Egyptians pride themselves on "a clean shave/'
and cover their bare heads with ponderous wigs. The
Sardinian contingent cultivate their own thick hair,
whiskers and mustachios; and their features are dis-
tinctly European. They also wear the curious helmet sur-
mounted by a ball and two spikes, by which they may al-
ways be recognized in the sculptures. These Sardinians
appear only in the border-frieze, next the floor. The sand
had drifted up just at that spot and only the top of one
fantastic helmet was visible above the surface. Not know-
ing in the least to what this might belong, we set the men
to scrape away the sand ; and so, quite by accident,
uncovered the most curious and interesting group in the
whole picture. The Sardinians* (in Egyptian Shardana),

*" La legion S'a/rdana de l'armee de Ramses II provenait d'une
premiere descente de ces peuples en Egypte. 'Les S'ardana qui
etaient des prisonniers de sa majeste,' dit expressement le teste de
Karnak, au commencement du poeme de Pentaur. Les archeologues
ont remarque la richesse de leur costume et de leurs armures. Les
principales pieces de leur veteruents seuiblent couvertes de broderies.
Lear bouchier est une rondache: ils portent une longue et large epee
de forme ordinaire, mais on remarque aussi dans leurs mains une
epee d'une longueur demesuree. Le casque des S'ardana est tres
caracterisque; sa forme est arrondie, mais il est surmonte d'une tige
qui supporte une boule de metal. Cet ornament est accompagne de
deux cornes en forme de croissant. . . . Les S'ardana de l'armee
Egyptienne ont seulement des favoris et des moustaches coupes tres
courts."—" Memoire sur les Attaques Dirigees centre l'Egypte," etc,
E. de Rouge. "Revue Archeologique," vol. xvi, pp. 90, 91.

276 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

seem to have been naturalized prisoners of war drafted
into the ranks of the Egyptian army; and are the first
European people whose names appear on the monuments.
There is but one hour in the twenty-four at which it is
possible to form any idea of the general effect of this vast
subject; and that is at sunrise. Then only does the pure
day stream in through the doorway and temper the gloom
of the side-aisles with light reflected from the sunlit floor.
The broad divisions of the picture and the distribution of
the masses may then be dimly seen. The details, however,
require candle-light and can only be studied a few inches
at a time. Even so, it is difficult to make out the upper
groups without the help of a ladder. Salame, mounted on
a chair and provided with two long sticks lashed together,
could barely hold his little torch high enough to enable the
writer to copy the inscription on the middle tower of the
fortress of Kadesh.

It is fine to see the sunrise on the front of the great
temple; but something still finer takes place on certain
mornings of the year, in the very heart of the mountain.
As the sun comes up above the eastern hill-tops, one long,
level, beam strikes through the doorway, pierces the inner
darkness like an arrow, penetrates to the sanctuary and
falls like fire from heaven upon the altar at the feet of
the gods.

No one who has watched for the coming of that shaft
of sunlight can doubt that it was a calculated effect and
that the excavation was directed at one especial angle in
order to produce it. In this way Ra, to whom the temple
was dedicated, may be said to have entered in daily and by
a direct manifestation of his presence to have approved the
sacrifices of his worshipers.

I need scarcely say that we did not see half the wall-
sculptures or even half the chambers that first afternoon
at Abou Simbel. We rambled to and fro, lost in wonder
and content to wonder, like rustics at a fair. We had,
however, ample time to come again and again, and learn
it all by heart. The writer went in constantly and at all
hours; "but most frequently at the end of the day's sketch-
ing, when the rest were walking or boating in the cool of
the late afternoon.

It is a wonderful place to be alone in — a place in which
the verv darkness and silence are old and in which time

ABO U SIMBEL. 277

himself seems to have fallen asleep. Wandering to and
fro among these sculptured halls, like a shade among
shadows, one seems to have left the world behind; to have
done with the teachings of the piesent; to belong one's
self to the past. The very gods assert their ancient influ-
ence over those who question them in solitude. Seen in
the fast-deepening gloom of evening, they look instinct
with supernatural life. There were times when I should
scarcely have been surprised to hear them speak — to see
them rise from their painted thrones and come down from
the walls. There were times when I felt I believed in
them.

There was something so weird and awful about the
place, and it became so much more weird and awful the
farther one went in, that I rarely ventured beyond the
first hall when quite alone. One afternoon, however,
when it was a little earlier, and therefore a little lighter
than usual, I went to the very end and sat at the feet of
the gods in the sanctuary. All at once (I cannot tell
why, for my thoughts just then were far away) it flashed
upon me that a whole mountain hung — ready, perhaps,
to cave in — above my head. Seized by a sudden
panic such as one feels in dreams, I tried to run; but my
feet dragged and the floor seemed to sink under them. I
felt I could not have called for help, though it had been to
save my life. It is unnecessary, perhaps, to add that the
mountain did not cave in, and that I had my fright for
nothing. It would have been a grand way of dying, all
the same; and a still grander way of being buried. My
visits to the great temple were not always so dramatic.
I sometimes took Salame, who smoked cigarettes when not
on active duty, or held a candle while I sketched patterns
of cornices, head-dresses of kings and gods, designs of
necklaces and bracelets, heads of captives, and the like.
Sometimes we explored the side-chambers. Of these there
are eight; pitch-dark, and excavated at all kinds of angles.
Two or three are surrounded by stone benches cut in the
rock; and in one the hieroglyphic inscriptions are part cut,
part sketched in black and left unfinished. As this temple
is entirely the work of Rameses II, and betrays no sign
of having been added to by any of his successors, these
evidences of incompleteness would seem to show that the
king died before the work was ended.

£78 A THOUSAND MIL EH UP THE NILE.

I was always under the impression that there were secret
places yet undiscovered in these dark chambers, and
Salame and I were always looking for them. At Denderah,
at Ed fit, at Medinet Habu, at Philse,* there have been
found crypts in the thickness of the walls and recesses
under the pavements, for the safe-keeping of treasure in
time of danger. The rock-cut temples must also have had
their hiding-places; and these would doubtless take the
form of concealed cells in the walls, or under the floors of
the side-chambers.

To come out from these black holes into the twilight of
the great hall and see the landscape set, as it were, in the
ebon frame of the doorway, was alone worth the journey to
Abou Simbel. The sun being at such times in the west,
the river, the yellow sand-island, the palms and tamarisks
opposite, and the mountains of the eastern desert, were all
Hooded with a glory of light and color to which no pen or
pencil could possibly do justice. Not even the mountains
of Moab in Hoi man Hunt's ' 'Scapegoat " were so warm
with rose and gold.

Thus our days passed at Abou Simbel; the workers work-
ing; the idler idling; strangers from the outer world now
and then coming and going. The heat on shore was great,
especially in the sketching-tents ; but the north breeze
blew steadily every day from about an hour after sunrise
till an hour before sunset, and on board the dahabeeyah it
was always cool.

The happy couple took advantage of this good wind to
do a good deal of boating, and by judiciously timing their
excursions contrived to use the tail of the day's breeze for
their trip out, and the strong arms of four good rowers to
bring them back again. In this way they managed to see
the little rock-cut temple of Ferayg, which the rest of us
unfortunately missed. On another occasion they paid a
visit to a certain sheik who lived at a village about two
miles south of Abou Simbel. He was a great man, as
Nubian magnates go. His name was Hassan Ebn Rash-
wan el Kashef, and he was a grandson of that same old
Hassan Kashef who was vice-regent of Nubia in the days

* A rich treasure of gold and silver rings was found by Ferlini, in
1834, immured in the wall of one of the pyramids of Meroe, in
Upper Nubia. See Lepsius' Litters, translated by L. and J. Horner,
Bonn, 1853, p 151.

ABOU SI MB EL. 279

of Burckhardt and Belzoni. He received our happy couple
with distinguished hospitality, killed a sheep in their
honor, and entertained them for more than three hours.
The meal consisted of an endless succession of dishes, all
of which, like that bugbear of our childhood, the hated air
with variations, -went on repeating the same theme under a
multitude of disguises; and, whether roasted, boiled, stewed
or minced, served on skewers, smothered in rice, or
drowned in sour milk, were always mutton au fond.

We now despaired of ever seeing a crocodile; and but
for a trail that our men discovered on the island opposite,
we should almost have ceased to believe that there were
crocodiles in Egypt. The marks were quite fresh when we
went to look at them. The creature had been basking
high and dry in the sun, and this was the point at which
he had gone down again to the river. The damp sand at
the water's edge had taken the mold of his huge fleshy
paws, and even of the jointed armor of his tail, though
this last impression was somewhat blurred by the final rush
with which he had taken to the water. I doubt if Robin-
son Crusoe, when he saw the famous footprint on the
shore, was more excited than we of the Philaj at sight of
this genuine and undeniable trail.

As for the idle man, he flew at once to arms and made
ready for the fray. He caused a shallow grave to be dug
for himself a few yards from the spot; then went and lay
in it for hours together, morning after morning, under the
full blaze of the sun — flat, patient, alert — with his gun
ready cocked, and a Pall Mall Budget up his back. It was
not his fault if he narrowly escaped sunstroke and had his
iabor for his reward. That crocodile was too clever for
him and took care never to come back.

Our sailors, meanwhile, though well pleased with an
occasional holiday, began to find Abou Simbel monoto-
nous. As long as the Bagstones stayed, the two crews met
every evening to smoke, and dance, and sing their quaint
roundelays together. But when rumors came of wonder-
ful things already done this winter above Wady Halfeh —
rumors that represented the second cataract as a populous
solitude of crocodiles — then our faithful consort slipped
away one morning before sunrise and the Philse was left
compauionless.

At this juncture, seeing that the men's time hung heavy

280 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

on their hands, our painter conceived the idea of setting
them to clean the face of the northernmost colossus, still
disfigured by the plaster left on it when the great cast *
was taken by Mr. Hay more than half a century before.
This happy thought was promptly carried into effect. A
scaffolding of spars and oars was at once improvised, and
the men, delighted as children at play, were soon swarm-
ing all over the huge head, just as the carvers may have
swarmed over it in the days when Rameses was king.

All they had to do was to remove any small lumps that
might yet adhere to the surface, and then tint the white
patches with coffee. This they did with bits of sponge
tied to the ends of sticks ; but Rei's Hassan, as a mark of
dignity, had one of the painter's old brushes, of which he
was immensely proud.

It took them three afternoons to complete the job; and
we were all sorry when it came to an end. To see Rei's
Hassan artistically touching up a gigantic nose almost as
long as himself ; Riskalli and the cook-boy staggering to
and fro with relays of coffee, brewed "thick and slab" for
the purpose ; Salame perched cross-legged, like some com-
placent imp, on the towering rim of the great pschent
overhead; the rest chattering and skipping about the scaf-
folding like monkeys, was, I will venture to say, a sight more

* This cast, the property of the British Museum, is placed over a
door leading to the library at the end of the northern vestibule,
opposite the staircase. I was informed by the late Mr. Bonomi that the
mold was made by Mr. Hay, who had with him an Italian assistant
picked up in Cairo. They took with them some barrels of plaster
and a couple of ladders, and contrived, with such spars and poles as
belonged tothedahabeeyah, to erect a scaffolding and a matted shelter
for the plasterman. The colossus was at this time buried up to its chin
in sand, which made the task so much the easier. When the mold
of the head was brought to England, it was sent to Mr. Bonomi's
studio, together with a mold of the head of the colossus at Mitra-
henny, a mold of the apex of the fallen obelisk at Karnak, and
molds of the wall-sculptures at Bayt-et-Welly. Mr. Bonomi super-
intended the casting and placing of all these in the museum about
three years after the molds were made. This was at the time when
Mr. Hawkins held the post of keeper of antiquities. I mention
these details, not simply because they have a special interest for
all who are acquainted with Abou Simbel, but because a good deal
of misapprehension has prevailed on the subject, some travelers
attributing the disfigurement of the head to Lepsius, others to the
Crystal Palace Company, and so forth. Even so careful a writer as
the late Miss Martineau ascribes it, on hearsay, to Champollion.

ABO U 81MB EL. 281

comic than has ever been seen at Abou Simbel before or
since.

Rameses' appetite for coffee was prodigious. He con-
sumed I know not how many gallons a day. Our cook
stood aghast at the demand made upon Ins stores. Never
before had he been called upon to provide for a guest
whose mouth measured three feet and a half in width.

Still, the result justified the expenditure. The coffee
proved a capital match for the sandstone ; and though it
was not possible wholly to restore the uniformity of the
original surface, we at least succeeded in obliterating those
ghastly splotches, which for so many years have marred
this beautiful face as with the unsightliness of leprosy.

What with boating, fishing, lying in wait for crocodiles,
cleaning the colossus, and filling reams of thin letter
paper to friends at home, we got through the first week
quickly enough — the painter and the writer working hard,,
meanwhile, in their respective ways; the painter on his big
canvas in front of the temple; the writer shifting her little
tent as she listed.

Now, although the most delightful occupation in life is
undoubtedly sketching, it must be admitted that the
sketcher at Abou Simbel works under difficulties. Fore-
most among these comes the difficulty of position. The
great temple stands within about twenty-five yards of the
brink of the bank, and the lesser temple within as many
feet; so that to get far enough from one's subject is simply
impossible. The present writer sketched the small temple
from the deck of the dahabeeyah ; there being no point of
view obtainable on shore.

Next comes the difficulty of color. Everything, except
the sky and the river, is yellow — yellow, that is to say,
" with a difference"; yellow ranging through every grada-
tion of orange, maize, apricot, gold and buff. The mount-
ains are sandstone ; the temples are sandstone; the sand-
slope is powdered sandstone from the sandstone desert.
In all these objects, the scale of color is necessarily the
same. Even the shadows, glowing with reflected light,
give back tempered repetitions of the dominant hue.
Hence it follows that he who strives, however humbly, to
reproduce the facts of the scene before him, is compelled,
Ion gre, mat gre, to execute what some of our young
painters would nowadays call a symphony in yellow.

282 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Lastly, there are the minor inconveniences of sun, sand,
wind, and Hies. The whole place radiates heat, and seems
almost to radiate light. The glare from above and the
glare from below are alike intolerable. Dazzled, blinded,
unable to even look at his subject without the aid of smoke-
colored glasses, the sketcher whose tent is pitched upon
the sandslope over against the great temple enjoys a fore-
taste of cremation.

When the wind blows from the north (which at this
time of the year is almost always) the heat is perhaps less
distressing, but the sand is maddening. It fills your hair,
your eyes, your water-bottles; silts up your color-box; dries
into your skies; and reduces your Chinese white to a gritty
paste the color of salad-dressing. As for the flies, they
have a morbid appetite for water-colors. They follow
your wet brush along the paper, leave their legs in the yel-
low ocher, and plunge with avidity into every little pool of
cobalt as it is mixed ready for use. Nothing disagrees
with them; nothing poisons them — not even olive-green.

It was a delightful time, however — delightful alike for
those who worked and those who rested — and these small
troubles counted for nothing in the scale. Yet it was
pleasant, all the same, to break away for a day or two, and
be off to Wady Half eh.

THE SKUOND CATARACT. 283

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SECOND CATARACT.

A fresh breeze, a full sail, and the consciousness of a
holiday well earned, carried us gayly along from Abou
Simbel to Wady Halfeh. We started late in the afternoon
of the first day, made about twelve miles before the wind
dropped, and achieved the remaining twenty-eight miles
before noon the next day. It was our last trip on the Nile
under canvas. At Wady Halfeh the Philse was doomed to
be dismantled. The big sail that had so long been our
pride and delight would there be taken down, and our
good boat, her grace and swiftness gone at one fell swooji,
would become a mere lumbering barge, more suggestive of
civic outings on the Thames than of Cleopatra's galley.

For some way beyond Abou Simbel, the western bank is
fringed by a long line of volcanic mountains, as much
alike in height, size, and shape, as a row of martello
towers. They are divided from one another by a series of
perfectly uniform sand-drifts; while on the rounded top of
each mountain, thick as the currants on the top of a cer-
tain cake, known to schoolboys by the endearing name of
" black-caps," lies a layer of the oddest black stones in the
world. Having more than once been to the top of the
rock of Abshek (which is the first large mountain of the
chain, and strewn in the same way) we recognized the
stones, and knew what they were like. In color they are
purplish black, tinged here and there with dull red. They
ring like clinkstone when struck, and in shape are most

fantastic. L picked up some like petrified bunches of

grapes. Others are twisted and writhen like the Vesuvian
lava of 1871. They lie loose upon the surface, and are of
all sizes; some being as small as currants, and others as
large as quartern loaves. Speaking as one having no kind
of authority, I should say that these stones are unquestion-
ably of fiery parentage. One seems to see how, boiling

284 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

and bubbling in a state of fusion, they must have been
suddenly checked by contact with some cooler medium.

Where the chain ends, about three or four miles above
Abou Simbel, the view widens, and a host of outlying
mountains are seen scattered over an immense plain reach-
ing for miles into the western desert. On the eastern
bank, Kalat Adda,* a huge, rambling Roman citadel,
going to solitary ruin on the last water- washed precipice
to the left — brings the opposite range to a like end, and
abuts on a similar plain, also scattered over with detached
peaks. The scene here is desolately magnificent. A large
island covered with palms divides the Nile in two branches,
each of which looks as wide as the whole river. An un-
bounded distance opens away to the silvery horizon. On
the banks there is no vendure; neither is there any sign of
human toil. Nothing lives, nothing moves, save the wind
and the river.

Of all the strange peaks we have yet seen, the mountains
hereabout are the strangest. Alone or in groups, they start

*" A castle, resembling in size and form that of Ibrim; it bears
the name of Kalat Adda; it has been abandoned many years, being
entirely surrounded by barren rocks. Part of its ancient wall,
similar in construction to that of Ibrim, still remains. The habita-
tions are built partly of stone and partly of brick. On the most
elevated spot in the small town, eight or ten gray granite columns of
small dimensions lie on the ground, with a few capitals near tbem
of clumsy Greek architecture." — Burckhardt's "Travels in Nubia,"
1819, p. 38.

In a curious Arabic history of Nubia written in the tenth century
a. d. by one Abdallah Ben Ahmed Ben Solaim of Assuan, fragments
of which are preserved in the great work of Makrizy, quoted by
Burckhardt and E. Quatremere (see foot note, p. 202), there occurs
the following remarkable passage: " In this province (Nubia) is
situated the city of Bedjrasch, capital of Maris, the fortress of Ibrim,
and another place called Adwa, which has a port, and is, they say,
the birthplace of the sage Lokman and of Dhoul Noun. There is to
be seen there a magnificent Birbeh" ("On^y voit an Berba mag-
nifique.") — " Memoires (ieographiques sur l'Egypte," etc. E Quatre-
mere, Paris, 1811; vol. ii, p. 8.

If Adwa and Adda are one and the same, it is possible that in this
passage we find preserved the only comparatively modern indication
of some great rock-cut temple, the entrance to which is now entirely
covered by the sand. It is clear tbat neither Abou Simbel (which is
on the opposite bank, and some three or four miles north of Adda)
nor Ferayg (which is also some way off, and quite a small place) can
here be intended. That another temple exists somewhere between
Abou Simbel and Wady Halfeh, and is yet to be discovered, seems
absolutely certain from the tenor of a large stela sculptured on the

THE SECOND CATARACT. 285

up here and there from the desert, on both sides, like the
pieces on a chess-board. They are for the most part conical;
but they are not extinct craters, such as are the volcanic
cones of Korosko and Dakkeh. Seeing how they
all rose to about the same height and were alike capped
with that mysterious couche of shining black stones, the
writer could not help fancying that, like the isolated Rocher
de Corneille and Rocher de St. Michael at Puy, they might
be but fragments of a rocky crust, rent and swept away at
some infinitely remote period of the world's history, and
that the level of their present summits might represent
perhaps the ancient level of the plain.

As regards form, they are weird enough for the wildest
geological theories. All taper more or less toward the top.
One is four-sided, like a pyramid; another, in shape a
truncated cone, looks as if crowned with a pagoda summer-
house; a third seems to be surmounted by a mosque and
cupola; a fourth is scooped out in tiers of arches; a fifth is
crowned, apparently, with a cairn of piled stones; and so
on, with variations as endless as they are fantastic. A
geologist might perhaps account for these caprices by show-
ing how fire and earthquake and deluge had here succeeded

rock a few paces north of the smallei* temple at Aboa Simbel. This
stela, which is one of the most striking and elaborate tbere, repre-
sents an Egyptian gateway surmounted by the winged globe, and
shows Rameses II enthroned and receiving the homage of a certain
prince whose name, as translated by Rosellini, is Rameses-Neniscti-
Habai. The inscription, which is in sixteen columns and perfectly
preserved, records the titles and praises of the king, and states how
"he had made a monumental abode for Horus, his father, Lord of
Ha'm, excavating in the bowels of the Rock of Ha'm to make him a
habitation of many ages." We know nothing of the Rock of Ha'm
(rendered Sciam by Rosellini), but it should no doubt be sought some-
where between Abou Simbel and Wady Half eh. " Qual sito pre-
cisamente dinotisi in questo nome di Sciam, io non saprei nel presente
stato delle cose determinare: credo peraltro secondo varie loughi
delle iscrizioni che lo ricordano, che fosse situato sull' una o l'altra
sponda del Nilo, nel paese compreso tra Wadi-halfa e Ibsambul, o
poco oltre. E qui dovrebbe trovarsi il nominalo speco di Horus, fino
al presente occulto a noi."— Rosellini Letterpress to " Monumenti
Storici," vol. iii, part ii, p. 184. It would hence appear that the Rock
of Ha'm is mentioned in other inscriptions.

The distance between Abou Simbel and Wady Half eh is only forty
miles, and the likely places along the banks are but few. Would
not the discovery of this lost temple be an enterprise worthier the
ambition of tourists, than the extermination of such few crocodiles
as yet linger north of the second contract?

286 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

each other; and how, after heing first covered with vol-
canic stones and then split into chasms, the valleys thus
opened had by and by been traversed by torrents which
wore away the softer parts of the rock and left the harder
standing.

Some way beyond Kalat Adda, when the Abou Simbel
range and palm island have all but vanished in the dis-
tance and the lonely peak called the Mountain of the Sun
(Gebel esh-Shems), has been left far behind, we came
upon a new wonder — namely: upon two groups of scattered
tumuli, one on the eastern, one on the western bank. Not
volcanic forms these; not even accidental forms, if one may
venture to form an opinion from so far off. They are of
various sizes; some little, some big; all perfectly round
and smooth and covered with a rich, greenish-brown allu-
vial soil. How did they come there? Who made them?
What did they contain? The Roman ruin close by — the
two hundred and forty thousand* deserters who must have
passed this way — the Egyptian and Ethiopian armies that
certainly poured their thousands along these very banks, and
might have fought many a battle on this open plain, suggest
all kinds of possibilities and rill one's head with visions of
buried arms and jewels and cinerary urns. We are more
than half-minded to stop the boat and land that very
moment; but are content on second thoughts with promis-
ing ourselves that we will at least excavate one of the
smaller hillocks on our way back.

And now, the breeze freshening and the dahabeeyah
tearing gallantly along, we leave the tumuli behind, and
enter upon a more desolate region, where the mountains
recede farther than ever and the course of the river is inter-
rupted by perpetual sand-banks.

On one of these sand-banks, just a few yards above the
edge of the water, lay a log of drift-wood, apparently a
battered old palm trunk, with some remnants of broken
branches yet clinging to it; such an object, in short, as my
American friends would very properly call a "snag."

Our pilot leaned forward on the tiller, put his finger to
his lip and whispered:

"Crocodilo!"

The painter, the idle man, the writer, were all on deck,

*See foot note page 265.

THE SECOND CATARACT. 287

and not one believed him. They had seen too many of
these snags already and were not going to let themselves
again be excited about nothing.

The pilot pointed to the cabin where L and the little

lady were indulging in that minor vice called afternoon
tea.

"Sitteh !" said he, "call sitteh! Crocodilo !"

We examined the object through our glasses. We
laughed the pilot to scorn. It was the worst imitation of
a crocodile that we had yet seen.

All at once the palm-trunk lifted up its head, cocked its
tail, found its legs, set off running, wriggling, undulating
down the slope with incredible rapidity and was gone
before we could utter an exclamation.

We three had a bad time when the other two came up
and found that we had seen our first crocodile without
them.

A sand-bank which we passed next morning was scored
all over with fresh trails and looked as if it had been the
scene of a crocodile-parliament. There must have been at
least twenty or thirty members present at the sitting; and
the freshness of the marks showed that they had only just
dispersed.

A keen and cutting wind carried us along the last
thirty miles of our journey. We had supposed that the
farther south we penetrated the hotter we should find the
climate; yet now, strange to say, we were shivering in seal-
skins, under the most brilliant sky in the world and in a
latitude more southerly than that of Mecca or Calcutta.
It was some compensation, however, to run at full speed
past the dullest of Nile scenery, seeing only sand-banks in
the river; sand-hills and sand-flats on either hand; a dis-
used shaduf or a skeleton-boat rotting at the water's edge;
a wind-tormented Dom palm struggling for existence on
the brink of the bank.

At a fatal corner about six miles below Wady Halfeh, we
passed a melancholy flotilla of dismantled dahabeeyahs —
the Fostat, the Zenobia, the Alice, the Mansoorah — all
alike weather-bound and laid up helplessly against the

wind. The Mansoorah, with Captain and Mrs. E on

board, had been three days doing these six miles; at which
rate of progress they might reasonably hope to reach Cairo
in about a year and a month.

288 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

The palms of Wady Halfeh, blue with distance, came
into sight at the next bend; and by noon the Phils was
once more moored alongside the Bagstones under a shore
crowded with cangias, covered with bales and packing-
cases and, like the shores of Mahatta and Assuan, popu-
lous with temporary huts. For here it is that traders
going by water embark and disembark on their way to and
fro between Dongola and the first cataract.

There were three temples — or at all events three ancient
Egyptian buildings — once upon a time on the western bank
over against Wady Halfeh. Now there are a few broken
pillars, a solitary fragment of brick pylon, some remains
of a flight of stone steps leading down to the river, and a
wail of inclosure overgrown with wild pumpkins. These
ruins, together with a rambling native Khan and a noble
old sycamore, form a picturesque group backed by amber
sand-cliffs, and mark the site of a lost city* belonging to
the early days of Usurtesen III.

The second, or great, cataract begins a little way above
Wady Halfeh and extends over a distance of many miles.
It consists, like the first cataract, of a succession of rocks
and rapids, and is skirted for the first five miles or so by
the sand-cliff ridge which, as I have said, forms a back-
ground to the ruins just opposite Wady Halfeh. This
ridge terminates abruptly in the famous precipice known
as the Rock of Abusir. Only adventurous travelers bound
for Dongola or Khartum go beyond this point; and they,
for the most part, take the shorter route across the desert

from Korosko. L and the writer would fain have hired

camels and pushed on as far as Semneh; which is a matter
of only two days' journey from Wady Halfeh, and, for
people provided with sketching-tents, is one of the easiest
of inland excursions.

One may go to the Rock of Abusir by land or by water.
The happy couple and the writer took two native boatmen
versed in the intricacies of the cataract and went in the
felucca. L and the painter preferred donkeying. Given

* " Un second temple, plus grand, niais tout aussi detruit que le
precedent, existe un peu plus au sud, e'etait le grand temple de la
villa Egyptienne de Beheni, qui exista sur cet emplacement, et qui
d'apres l'etendu des debris de poteries repandus sur la plaine au-
jourdhui deserte, parait avoir ete assez grande. " — Champollion,
Lettres ecritesd'Egypte, etc., ed. 1868; Letter ix.

THE SECOND CATARACT. 289

a good breeze from the right quarter, there is, as regards
time, but little to choose between the two routes. No one,
however, who has approached the Rock of Abusir by
water, and seen it rise like a cathedral front from the midst
of that labyrinth of rocky islets— some like clusters of
basaltic columns, some crowned with crumbling ruins,
some bleak and bare, some green with wild pomegranate
trees — can doubt which is the more picturesque.

Landing among the tamarisks at the foot of the cliff,
we come to the spreading skirts of a sand-drift steeper and
more fatiguing to climb than the sand-drift at Abou Sim-
bel. We do climb it, however, though somewhat sulk-
ily, and, finding the donkey-party perched upon the top,
are comforted with draughts of ice-cold lemonade, brought
in a kullah from Wady Ilalfeh.

The summit of the rock is a mere ridge, steep and over-
hanging toward east and south, and carved all over with
autographs in stone. Some few of these are interesting;
but for the most part they record only the visits of the il-
lustrious-obscure. We found Belzoni's name; but looked
in vain for the signatures of Burckhardt, Champollion,
Lepsius and Ampere.

Owing to the nature of the ground and the singular
clearness of the atmosphere, the view from this point
seemed to be the most extensive I, had ever looked upon.
Yet the height of the Rock of Abusir is comparatively in-
significant. It would count but as a mole-hill, if measured
against some Alpine summits of my acquaintance. I
doubt whether it is as lofty as even the great pyramid. It
is, however, a giddy place to look down from, and seems
higher than it is.

It is hard, now that we are actually here, to realize that
this is the end of our journey. The cataract— an immense
multitude of black and shining islets, among which the
river, divided into hundreds of separate channels, spreads
far and wide for a distance, it is said, of more than sixteen
miles— foams at our feet. Foams, and frets, and falls ;
gushing smooth and strong where its course is free ; mur-
muring hoarsely where it is interrupted; now hurrying ;
now loitering; here eddying in oily circles; there lying in
still pools unbroken by a ripple ; everywhere full of life,
full of voices; everywhere shining to the sun. North-
ward;, where it winds away toward Abou Simbel, we see all

290 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the fantastic mountains of yesterday on the horizon. To the
east,still bounded byout-liersof the same disconnected chain,
lies a rolling waste of dark and stony wilderness trenched with
innumerable valleys through which flow streams of sand. On
the western side, the continuity of the view is interrupted by
the ridge which ends with Abusir. Southward the Libyan
desert reaches away in a vast undulating plain; tawny, arid
monotonous ; all sun ; all sand ; lit here and there with
arrowy flashes of the Nile. Farthest of all, pale but dis-
tinct, on the outermost rim of the world, rise two mount-
ain summits, one long, one dome-like. Our Nubians tell
us that these are the mountains of Dongola. Comparing
our position with that of the third cataract as it appears
upon the map, we come to the conclusion that these ghost-
like silhouettes are the summits of Mount Fogo * and
Mount Arambo — two apparently parallel mountains situate
on opposite sides of the river about ten miles below
Hannek, and consequently about one hundred and forty-
five miles, as the bird flies, from the spot on which we are
standing.

In all this extraordinary panorama, so wild, so weird, so
desolate, there is nothing really beautiful except the color.
But the color is transcendent. Never, even in Egypt,
have I seen anything so tender, so transparent, so harmo-
nious. I shut my eyes and it all comes before me. I see
the amber of the sands ; the pink and pearly mountains;
the cataract rocks, all black and purple and polished; the
dull gray palms that cluster here and there upon the larger
islands; the vivid verdure of the tamarisks and pomegran-
ates; the Nile, a greenish-brown flecked with yeasty foam;
over all, the blue and burning sky, permeated with light,
and palpitating with sunshine.

I made no sketch. I felt that it would be ludicrous to
attempt it. And I feel now that any endeavor to put the
scene into words is a mere presumptuous effort to describe
the indescribable. Words are useful instruments ; but,
like the etching needle and the burin, they stop short at
form. They cannot translate color.

If a traveler pressed for time asked me whether he
should or should not go as far as the second cataract, I

* Mount Fogo, as shown upon Keith Johnston's map of Egypt and
Nubia, would seem to be identical with the Ali Bersi of Lepsius,

THE SECOND CATARACT. 291

think I should recommend him to turn back from Abou
Simbel. The trip must cost four days; and if the wind
should happen to be unfavorable either way, it may cost
six or seven. The forty miles of river that have to be
twice traversed are the dullest on the Nile; the cataract is
but an enlarged and barren edition of the cataract be-
tween Assuan and Phila?; and the great view, as I have
said, has not that kind of beauty which attracts the gen-
eral tourist.

It has an interest, however, beyond and apart from that
of beauty. It rouses one's imagination to a sense of the
greatness of the Nile. We look across a world of desert,
and see the river still coming from afar. We have reached
a point at which all that is habitable and familiar comes
abruptly to an end. Not a village, not a bean-field, not a
shaduf, not a sakkieh, is to be seen in the plain below.
There is no sail on those dangerous waters. There is no
moving creature on those pathless sands. But for the
telegraphic wires stalking, ghostlike, across the desert, it
would seem as if we had touched the limit of civilization,
and were standing on the threshold of a land unexplored.

Yet for all this, we feel as if we were at only the begin-
ning of the mighty river. We have journeyed well-nigh
a thousand miles against the stream ; but what is that to
the distance which still lies between us and the great lakes?
And how far beyond the great lakes must we seek for the
source that is even yet undiscovered?

We stayed at Wady Halfeli but one night and paid but
one visit to the cataract. We saw no crocodiles, though
they are still plentiful among these rocky islets. The M.
B.'s, who had been here a wreek, were full of crocodile
stories and of Alfred's deeds of arms. He had stalked
and shot a monster, two clays before our arrival ; but the
creature had rushed into the water when hit, waving its
tail furiously above its head, and had neither been seen
nor heard of since.

Like Achilles, the crocodile has but one vulnerable
spot; and this is a small unarmored patch behind the fore-
arm. He will take a good deal of killing even there, un-
less the bullet finds its way to a vital part, or is of the dia-
bolical kind called "explosive." Even when mortally
wTounded, he seldom drops on the spot. With his last
strength, he rushes to the water and dies at the bottom.

292 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

After three days the carcass rises and floats, and our
friends were now waiting in order that Alfred might hag
his hig game. Too often, however, the poor brute either
crawls into a hole, or, in his agony, becomes entangled
among weeds and comes up no more. For one crocodile
bagged, a dozen regain the river, and, after lingering
miserably under water, die out of sight and out of reach
of the sportsman.

While we were climbing the Rock of Abusir our men
were busy taking down the big sail and preparing the
Philaa for her long and ignominious journey down-stream.
We came back to find the mainyard laid along like a roof-
tree above our heads; the sail rolled up in a huge ball and
resting on the roof of the kitchen ; the small aftersail and
yard hoisted on the mainmast; the oars lashed six on each
side; and the lower deck a series of yawning chasms, every
alternate plank being taken up so as to form seats and
standing places for the rowers.

Thus dismantled, the dahabeeyah becomes, in fact, a gal-
ley. Her oars are now her chief motive power; and a crew
of steady rowers (having always the current in their favor)
can do thirty miles a day. When, however, a good breeze
blows from the south, the small sail aud the current are
enough to carry the boat well along ; and then the men
reserve their strength for rowing by night, when the wind
has dropped. Sometimes, when it is a dead calm and the
rowers need rest, the dahabeeyah is left to her own devices
and floats with the stream — now waltzing ludicrously in
the middle of the river ; now drifting sidewise like Mr.
Winkle's horse ; now sidling up to the east bank; now
changing her mind and blundering over to the west; mak-
ing upon an average about a mile and a half 01 two miles
an hour, and presenting a pitiful spectacle of helpless
imbecility. At other times, however, the head wind
blows so hard that neither oars nor current avail; and then
there is nothing for it but to lie under the bank and wait
for better times.

This was our sad case in going back to Abou Simbel.
Having struggled with no little difficulty through the first
five-and-twenty miles, we came to a dead-lock about half-
way between Faras and Gebel-esh-Shems. Carried forward
by the stream, driven back by the wind, buffeted by the
waves, and bumped incessantly by the rocking to and fro
of the felucca, our luckless Phila?, after oscillating for

THE SECOND CA TA RA CT. ;.' 93

hours within the space of a mile, was run at last into a
sheltered nook, and there left in peace till the wind should
change or drop.

Imprisoned here for a day and a half, we found our-
selves, fortunately, within reach of the tumuli which we
had already made up our minds to explore. Making first
for those on the east bank, we took witli us in the felucca
four men to row and dig, a fire-shovel, a small hatchet, an
iron bar, and a large wicker basket, which were the only
implements we possessed. What we wanted both then
and afterward, and what no dahabeeyah should ever be
without, were two or three good spades, a couple of picks,
and a crowbar.

Climbing to the top of one of the highest of these hil-
locks, we began by surveying the ground. The desert
here is firm to the tread, flat, compact, and thickly strewn
with pebbles. Of the fine yellow sand which characterizes
the Libyan bank, there is little to be seen, and that little
lies like snow in drifts and clefts and hollows, as if carried
thither by the wind. The tumuli, however, are mounded
of pure alluvial mold, smooth, solid, and symmetrical. We
counted thirty-four of all sizes, from five to about five-and-
thirty feet in height, and saw at least as many more on the
opposite side of the river.

Selecting one of about eight feet high, we then set the
sailors to work ; and although it was impossible, with so
few men and such insufficient tools, to cut straight through
the center of the mound, we at all events succeeded in
digging down to a solid substratum of lumps of crude clay,
evidently molded by hand.

Whether these formed only the foundation of the
tumulus, or concealed a grave excavated below the level of
the desert, we had neither time nor means to ascertain.
It was something at all events, to have convinced our-
selves that the mounds were artificial.*

As we came away, we met a Nubian peasant trudging
northward. He was leading a sorry camel ; had a white
cockerel under his arm; and was followed by a frightened

* On referring to Col. H. Vyse's "Voyage into Upper Egypt," etc.
I see that be also opened one of these tumuli, but " found no indica-
tion of an artificial construction." I can only conclude tbat be did
not carry bis excavation low enough. As it is difficult to suppose
the tumuli made for nothing, I cannot help believing that they
would repay a more systematic investigation.

294 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

woman, who drew her shawl over her face and cowered
behind him at sight of the Ingleezeh.

We asked the man what the mounds were, and who
made them; bnt he shook his head, and said they had
been there "from old time." We then inquired by what
name they were known in these parts; to which, urging
his camel forward, he replied hesitatingly that they had a
name, but that he had forgotten it.

Having gone a little way, however, he presently turned
back, saying that he now remembered all about it, and that
they were called " The Horns of Yackma."

More than this we could not get from him. Who
Yackma was, or how he came to have horns, or why his
horns should take the form of tumuli, was more than he
could tell or we could guess.

We gave him a small backshish, however, in return for
this mysterious piece of information, and went our way
with all possible speed; intending to row across and see
the mounds on the opposite bank before sunset. But we
had not calculated upon the difficulty of either threading
our way among a chain of sand-banks, or going at least two
miles farther north, so as to get round into the navigable
channel at the other side. We of course tried the shorter
way, and after running aground some three or four times,
had to give it up, hoist our little sail, and scud homeward
as fast as the wind would carry us.

The coming back thus, after an excursion in the felucca,
is one of the many pleasant things that one has to remem-
ber of the Nile. The sun has set; the after-glow has
faded; the stars are coming out. Leaning back with a
satisfied sense of something seen or done, one listens to the
Qld dreamy chant of the rowers and to the ripple under
the keel. The palms, meanwhile, glide past, and are seen
in bronzed relief against the sky. Presently the big boat,
all glittering with lights, looms up out of the dusk. A
cheery voice hails from the poop. We glide under the
bows. Half a dozen smiling brown laces bid us welcome,
and as many pairs of brown hands are outstretched to help
us up the side. A savory smell is wafted from the
kitchen; a pleasant vision of the dining-saloon, with table
ready spread and lamps ready lit, flushes upon us through
the open doorway. We are at home once more. Let us
eat, drink, rest, and be merry; for to-morrow the hard
work of sight-seeing and sketching begins again.

DISCO VERIES A T ABO U SIMBEL. 205

CHAPTER XVIII.

DISCOVERIES AT ABOU SIMBEL.

We came back to find a fleet of dahabeeyahs ranged
along the shore at Abou Simbel and no less than three
sketching-tents in occupation of the ground. One of
these, which happened to be pitched on the precise spot
vacated by our painter, was courteously shifted to make
way for the original tenant; and in the course of a couple
of hours we were all as much at home as if we had not
been away for half a day.

Here, meanwhile, was our old acquaintance — the Fostat,
with her party of gentlemen ; yonder the Zenobia, all

ladies; the little Alice, with Sir J. C and Mr. W on

board; the Sirena, flying witli stars and stripes; the Man-
soorah, bound presently for the Fayum. To these were
next day added the Ebers, with a couple of German
savants ; and the Bagstones, welcome back from Wady
Halfeh.

What with arrivals and departures, exchange of visits,
exhibitions of sketches and sociabilities of various kinds,
we had now quite a gay time. The Philas gave a dinner-
party and fantasia under the very noses of the colossi and
every evening there was drumming and howling enough
among the assembled crews to raise the ghosts of Rameses
and all his queens. This was pleasant enough while it
lasted; but when the strangers dropped off one by one and
at the end of three days we were once more alone, I think
Ave were not sorry. The place was, somehow, too solemn
for

" Singing, laughing, ogling and all that."

It was by comparing our watches with those of the
travelers whom we met at Abou Simbel, that we now
found out how hopelessly our timekeepers and theirs had
gone astray. We had been altering ours continually ever

296 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

since leaving Cairo; but the sun was as continually putting
them wrong again, so that we had lost all count of the true
time. The first words with which we now greeted a new-
comer were: "Do you know what o'clock it is?" To
which the stranger as invariably replied that it was the
very question he was himself about to ask. The confusion
became at last so great that, finding that we had about
eleven hours of day to thirteen of night, we decided to
establish an arbitrary canon; so we called it seven when the
sun rose and six when it set, which answered every
purpose.

It was between two and four o'clock, according to this
time of ours, that the southern cross was now visible every
morning. It is undoubtedly best seen at Abou Simbel.
The river is here very wide and just where the constellation
rises there is an opening in the mountains on the eastern
bank, so that these four fine stars, though still low in the
heavens, are seen in a free space of sky. If they make,
even so, a less magnificent appearance than one has been
led to expect, it is probably because we see them from too
low a point of view. To say that a constellation is fore-
shortened sounds absurd ; yet that is just what is the
matter with the Southern Cross at Abou Simbel. Viewed at
an angle of about thirty degrees, it necessarily looks dis-
tort and dim. If seen burning in the zenith, it would no
doubt come up to the level of its reputation.

It was now the fifth day after our return from Wady
Halfeh, when an event occurred that roused us to an un-
wonted pitch of excitement and kept us at high pressure
throughout the rest of our time.

The day was Sunday ; the date February 16, 1874; the
time, according to Philas reckoning, about eleven a.m.,
when the painter, enjoying his seventh day's holiday after
his own fashion, went strolling about among the rocks.
He happened to turn his steps southward and, passing the
front of the great temple, climbed to the top of a little
shapeless mound of fallen cliff and sand and crude-brick
wall, just against the corner where the mountain slopes
down to the river. Immediately round this corner, look-
ing almost due south, and approachable only by a narrow
ledge of rock, are two votive tablets, sculptured and
painted, both of the thirty-eighth year of Rameses II. We
had seen these from the river as we came back from Wady

DISCO VERIES AT ABO U 8MB EL . 29?

Halfeh, and had remarked how fine the view must be from
that point. Beyond the fact that they are colored and that
the coior upon them is still bright, there is nothing remark-
able about these inscriptions. There are many such at
Abou Simbel. Our painter did not, therefore, come here
to examine the tablets; he was attracted solely by the
view.

Turning back presently his attention was arrested by
some much mutilated sculptures on the face of the rock, a
few yards nearer the south buttress of the temple. He had
seen these sculptures before — so, indeed, had I, when
wandering about that first day in search of a point of
view — without especially remarking them. The relief was
low, the execution slight; and the surface so broken away
that only a few confused outlines remained.

The thing that now caught the painter's eye, however,
was a long crack running transversely down the face of the
rock. It was such a crack as might have been caused, one
would say, by blasting.

He stooped — cleared the sand away a little with his hand
— observed that the crack widened — poked in the point of
his stick and found that it penetrated to a depth of two or
three feet. Even then it seemed to him to stop, not because
it encountered any obstacle, but because the crack was not
wide enough to admit the thick end of the stick.

This surprised him. No mere fault in the natural rock,
he thought, would go so deep. He scooped away a little
more sand; and still the cleft widened. He introduced the
stick a second time. It was a long palm-stick, like an
alpenstock, and it measured about five feet in length. When
he probed the cleft with it this second time it went in
freely up to where he held it in his hand — that is to say,
to a depth of quite four feet.

Convinced now that there was some hidden cavity in the
rock, he carefully examined the surface. There were yet
visible a few hieroglyphic characters and part of two car-
touches, as well as some battered outlines of what had once
been figures. The heads of these figures were gone (the face
of the rock, with whatever may have been sculptured upon
it, having come away bodily at this point), while from the
waist downward they were hidden under the sand. Only
some hands and arms, in short, could be made out.

They were the hands and arms, apparently, of four

298 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

figures; two in the center of the composition and two at
the extremities. The two center ones, which seemed to
be back to back, probably represented gods; the outer ones,
worshipers.

All at once it flashed upon the painter that he had seen
this kind of a group many a time before — and generally
over a doorway.

Feeling sure now that he was on the brink of a discovery
he came back, fetched away Salame and MehemetAli, and,
without saying a syllable to any one, set to work with
these two to scrape away the sand at the spot where the
crack widened.

Meanwhile, the luncheon-bell having rung thrice, we
concluded that the painter had rambled off somewhere into
the desert, and so sat down without him. Toward the
close of the meal, however, came a penciled note, the con-
tents of which ran as follows:

" Pray come immediately — I have found the entrance to
a tomb. Please send some sandwiches. A. M'C ."

To follow the messenger at once to the scene of action
was the general impulse. In less than ten minutes we were
there, asking breathless questions, peeping in through the
fast-widening aperture and helping to clear away the sand.

All that Sunday afternoon, heedless of possible sun-
stroke, unconscious of fatigue, we toiled upon our hands
and knees, as for bare life, under the burning sun. We had
all the crew up, working like tigers. Every one helped;
even the dragoman and the two maids. More than once,
when we paused for a moment's breathing-space, we said
to each other: •' If those at home could see us what would
they say?"

And now, more than ever, we felt the need of imple-
ments. With a spade or two and a wheelbarrow we could
have done wonders ; but with only one small fire-shovel,
a birch broom, a couple of charcoal baskets, and about
twenty pairs of hands, we were poor indeed. What was
wanted in means, however, was made up in method.
Some scraped away the sand ; some gathered it into
baskets; some carried the baskets to the edge of the cliff
and emptied them into the river. The idle man dis-

DISCO VERIES AT ABO U SIMS EL. 299

tinguished himself by scooping out a channel where the
slope was steepest ; which greatly facilitated the work.
Emptied down this chute and kept continually going, the
sand poured off in a steady stream like water.

Meanwhile the opening grew rapidly larger. When we
first came up — that is, when the painter and the two
sailors had been working on it for about an hour — we
found a hole scarcely as large as one's hand, through
which it was just possible to catch a dim glimpse of painted
walls within. By sunset the top of the doorway was laid
bare, and where the crack ended in a large triangular
fracture there was an aperture about a foot and a half
square, into which Mehemet Ali was the first to squeeze
his way. We passed him in a candle and a box of matches;
but he came out again directly, saying that it was a most
beautiful birbeh, and quite light within.

The writer wriggled in next. She found herself looking
down from the top of a sand-slope into a small square
chamber. This sand-drift, which here rose to within a
foot and a half of the top of the doorway, was heaped to
the ceiling in the corner behind the door, and thence sloped
steeply down, completely covering the floor. There was
light enough to see every detail distinctly — the painted
frieze running round just under the ceiling ; the bas-relief
sculptures on the walls, gorgeous with unfaded color; the
smooth sand, pitted near the top, where Mehemet Ali had
trodden, but undisturbed elsewhere by human foot ; the
great gap in the middle of the ceiling, where the rock had
given way ; the fallen fragments on the floor, now almost
buried in sand.

Satisfied that the place was absolutel}7 fresh and un-
touched, the writer crawled out, and the others, one by
by one, crawled in. When each had seen it in turn the
opening was barricaded for the night; the sailors being for-
bidden to enter it lest they should injure the decorations.

That evening was held a solemn council, whereat it w7as
decided that Talhamy and Reis Hassan should go to-mor-
row to the nearest village, there to engage the services of
fifty able-bodied natives. With such help, we calculated
that the place might easily be cleared in twro days. If it
was a tomb we hoped to discover the entrance to the
mummy pit below ; if but a small chapel, or speos, like
those at Ibrim, we should at least have the satisfaction of

300 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

seeing all that it contained in the way of sculptures and
inscriptions.

This was accordingly done ; but we worked again next
morning just the same, till midday. Our native con-
tingent, numbering about forty men, then made their
appearance in a rickety old boat, the bottom of which was
half-full of water.

They had been told to bring implements ; and they did
bring such as they had — two broken oars to dig with, some
baskets, and a number of little slips of planking which,
being tied between two pieces of rope and drawn along the
surface, acted as scrapers and were useful as far as they
went. Squatting in double file from the entrance of the
speos to the edge of the cliff, and to the burden of a rude
chant propelling these improvised scrapers, the men began
by clearing a path to the doorway. This gave them work
enough for the afternoon. At sunset, when they dis-
persed, the path was scooped out to a depth of four feet,
like a miniature railway cutting between embankments of
sand.

Next morning came the sheik in person with his two
sons and a following of a hundred men. This was so
many more than we had bargained for that we at once
foresaw a scheme to extort money. The sheik, however,
proved to be that same Rashwan Ebn Hassan el Kashef,
by whom the happy couple had been so hospitably enter-
tained about a fortnignt before; we therefore received him
with honor, invited him to luncheon, and, hoping to get
the work done quickly, set the men on in gangs under the
superintendence of Rei's Hassan and the head sailor.

By noon the door was cleared down to the threshold,
and the whole south and west walls were laid bare to the
floor.

We now found that the debris which blocked the north
wall and the center of the floor was not, as we had at
first supposed, a pile of fallen fragments, but one solid
bowlder which had come down bodily from above. To
remove this was impossible. We had no tools to cut or
break it and it was both wider and higher than the doorway.
Even to clear away the sand which rose behind it to the
ceiling would have taken a long time and have caused in-
evitable injury to the paintings around. Already the brill-

DISCO VERIES A T ABO U 8IMBEL. 301

iancy of the color was marred where the men had leaned
their backs, all wet with perspiration, against the walls.

Seeing, therefore, that three-fourths of the decorations
were now uncovered, and that behind the fallen block there
appeared to be no subject of great size or importance, we
made up our minds to carry the work no further.

Meanwhile, we had great fun at luncheon with our
Nubian sheik — a tall, well-featured man with much
natural dignity of manner. He was well dressed, too, and
wore a white turban most symmetrically folded; a white
vest buttoned to the throat; a long, loose robe of black
serge; an outer robe of fine black cloth with hanging
sleeves and a hood; and on his feet, white stockings and
scarlet morocco shoes. When brought face to face with
a knife and fork his embarrassment was great. He was,
it seemed, too grand a personage to feed himself. He
must have a "feeder;" as the great men of the middle ages
had a " taster." Talhamy accordingly, being promoted to
this office, picked out choice bits of mutton and chicken
with his fingers, dipped pieces of bread in gravy and put
every morsel into our guest's august mouth, as if the said
guest were a baby.

The sweets being served, the little lady, L and the

writer took him in hand and fed him with all kinds of
jams and preserved fruits. Enchanted with these atten-
tions, the poor man eat till he could eat no longer; then
laid his hand pathetically over the region next his heart
and cried for mercy. After luncheon he smoked his
chibouque and coffee was served. Our coffee did not please
him. He tasted it, but immediately returned the cup,
telling the waiter with a grimace, that the berries were
burned and the coffee weak. When, however, we apolo-
gized for it, he protested with oriental insincerity that it
was excellent.

To amuse him was easy, for he was interested in every-
thing; in L 's field-glass, in the painter's accordion, in

the piano, and the lever corkscrew. With some eau-de-
cologne he was also greatly charmed, rubbing it on his
beard and inhaling it with closed eyes, in a kind of
rapture To make talk was, as usual, the great difficulty.
When he had told us that his eldest son was Governor of
Derr; that his youngest was five years of age; that the
dates of Derr were better than the dates of Wady Hall'eh;

302 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

and that the Nubian people were very poor, he was at the
end of his topics. Finally, he requested us to convey a

letter from him to Lord I) , who had entertained him

on board his dahabeeyah the year before. Being asked if
he had brought his letter with him, he shook his head,
saying: "Your dragoman shall write it."

So paper and a reed pen were produced and Talhamy
wrote to dictation as follows:

" God have care of you. I hope you are well. I am
sorry not to have had a letter from you since you were
here. Your brother and friend,

"Eashwan Ebjst Hassaist el Kashef."

A model letter this; brief and to the point.

Our urbane and gentlemanly sheik was, however, not
quite so charming when it came to settling time. We had
sent at first for fifty men, and the price agreed upon was
five piasters, or about a shilling English, for each man per
day. In answer to this call, there first came forty men for
half a day; then a hundred men for a whole day, •or what
was called a whole day; so making a total of six pounds
due for wages. But the descendants of the Kashefs would
hear of nothing so commonplace as the simple fulfillment of
a straightforward contract. He demanded full pay for a
hundred men for two whole days, a gun for himself, and a
liberal backshish in cash. Finding he had asked more
than he had any chance of getting, he conceded the ques-
tion of wages, but stood out for a game-bag and a pair of
pistols. Finally, he was obliged to be content with the six
pounds for his men, and for himself two pots of jam, two
boxes of sardines, a bottle of eau-de-cologne, a box of pills,
and half a sovereign.

By four o'clock he and his followers were gone, and we
once more had the place to ourselves. So long as they
were there it was impossible to do anything, but now, for
the first time, we fairly entered into possession of our
newly found treasure.

All the rest of that day, and all the next day, we spent

at work in and about the spoos. L and the little

lady took their books and knitting there, and made a little
drawing-room of it. The writer copied paintings and
inscriptions. The idle man and the painter took measure-

D TSCO VER ELS AT ABOU SIMB EL. 303

ments and surveyed the ground round about, especially
endeavoring to make out the plan of certain fragments of
wall, the foundations of which were yet traceable.

A careful examination of these ruins, and a little clear-
ing of the sand here and there, led to further discoveries.
They found that the speos had been approached by a
large outer hall built of sun-dried brick, with one princi-
pal entrance facing the Nile, and two side entrances facing
northward. The floor was buried deep in sand and debris,
but enough of the walls remained above the surface to
show that the ceiling had been vaulted and the side
entrances arched.

The southern boundary wall of this hall, when the sur-
face sand was removed, appeared to be no less than twenty
feet in thickness. This was not in itself so wonderful,
there being instances of ancient Egyptian crude-brick walls
which measure eighty feet in thickness;* but it was
astounding as compared with the north, east, and west
walls, which measured only three feet. Deeming it impos-
sible that this mass could be solid throughout, the idle man
set to work with a couple of sailors to probe the center part
of it, and it soon became evident that there was a hollow
space about three feet in width running due east and west
down not quite exactly the middle of the structure.

All at once the idle man thrust his fingers into a skull!

This was such an amazing and unexpected incident that
for the moment he said nothing, but went on quietly dis-
placing the sand and feeling his way under the surface.
The next instant his hand came in contact with the edge of
a clay bowl, which he carefully withdrew. It measured
about four inches in diameter, was hand-molded, and full
of caked sand. He now proclaimed his discoveries and all
ran to help in the work. Soon a second and smaller skull
was turned up, then another bowl, and then, just under
the place from which the bowls were taken, the bones of
two skeletons, all detached, perfectly desiccated, and appar-
ently complete. The remains were those of a child and a
small grown person — probably a woman. The teeth were
sound; the bones wonderfully delicate and brittle. As for

* The inclosure-wall of the great Temple of Tanis is eighty feet
thick. See "Tanis," Part 1, by W. M. F. Petrie; published by the
Committee of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1885. [Note to second
edition.]

304 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the little skull (which had fallen apart at the sutures), it
was pure and fragile in texture as the cup of a water-lily.

We laid the bones aside as we found them, examining
every handful of sand, in the hope of discovering some-
thing that might throw light upon the burial. But in
vain. We found not a shred of clothing, not a bead, not
a coin, not the smallest vestige of anything that might
help one to judge whether the interment had taken place
a hundred years ago or a thousand.

We now called up all the crew, and went on excavating
downward into what seemed to be a long and narrow vault
measuring some fifteen feet by three.

After-reflection convinced us that we had stumbled upon
a chance Nubian grave, and that the bowls (which at first
we absurdly dignified with the name of cinerary urns)
were but the usual water-bowls placed at the heads of the
dead. But we were in no mood for reflection at the time.
We made sure that the speos was a mortuary chapel; that
the vault was a vertical pit leading to a sepulchral chamber;
and that at the bottom of it we should find — who could
tell what? Mummies, perhaps, and sarcophagi, and funerary
statuettes, and jewels, and papiry and wonders without end!
That these uncared-for bones should be laid in the mouth
of such a pit, scarcely occurred to us as an incongruity.
Supposing them to be Nubian remains, what then ? If a
modern Nubian at the top, why not an ancient Egyptian at
the bottom ?

As the work of excavation went on, however, the vault
was found to be entered by a steep inclined plane. Then
the inclined plane turned out to be a flight of much worn
and very shallow stairs. These led down to a small square
landing, some twelve feet below the surface, from which
landing an arched doorway* and passage opened into the
fore-court of the speos. Our sailors had great difficulty
in excavating this part, in consequence of the weight of
superincumbent sand and debris on the side next the
speos. By shoring up the ground, however, they were

* It was long believed that the Egyptians were ignorant of the
principle of the arch. This, however, was not the case. There are
brick arches of the time of Rameses II behind the Ramesseum at
Thebes and elsewhere. Still, arches are rare in Egypt. We filled
in and covered the arch again, and the greater part of the .staircase
in order to preserve the former

DISCO VKRTES AT ABO U S1MB EL. 305

enabled completely to clear the landing, which was curi-
ously paved with cones of rude pottery like the bottoms of
amphora?. These cones, of which we took out some
twenty eight or thirty, were not in the least like the cele-
brated funerary cones found so abundantly at Thebes.
They bore no stamp, and were much shorter and more
lumpy in shape. Finally, the cones being all removed, we
came to a compact and solid floor of baked clay.

The painter, meanwhile, had also been at work. Hav-
ing traced the circuit and drawn out a ground-plan, he
came to the conclusion that the whole mass adjoining
the southern wall of the speos was in fact composed
of the ruins of a pylon, the walls of which were seven feet
in thickness, built in regular string-courses of molded
brick, and finished at the angles with the usual torus, or
round molding. The superstructure, with its chambers,
passages, and top cornice, was gone; and this part with
which we were now concerned was merely the basement,
and included the bottom of the staircase.

The painter's ground-plan demolished all our hopes at
once fell swoop. The vault was a vault no longer. The
staircase led to no sepulchral chamber. The brick floor
had no secret entrance. Our mummies melted into thin
air, and we were left with no excuse for carrying on the exca-
vations. We were mortally disappointed. In vain we told
ourselves that the discovery of a large brick pylon, the ex-
istence of which had been unsuspected by preceding trav-
elers, was an event of greater importance than the finding
of a tomb. We had set our hearts on the tomb; and I am
afraid we cared less than we ought for the pylon.

Having traced thus far the course of the excavations
and the way in which one discovery led step by step to an-
other, I must now return to the speos, and, as accurately
as I can, describe it, not only from my notes made on the
spot, but by the light of such observations as I afterward
made among structures of the same style and period. I
must, however, premise that, not being able to go inside
while the excavators were in occupation, and remaining
but one whole day at Abou Simbel after the work was
ended, I had but" a short time at my disposal. I would
gladly have made colored copies of all the wall-paintings;
but this was impossible. I therefore was obliged to be
content with transcribing the inscriptions and sketching a
few of the more important subjects.

306 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

The rock-cut chamber which I have hitherto described as a
speos, and which we at first believed to be a tomb, was in fact
neither the one or the other. It was the adytum of a partly
built, partly excavated monument coeval in date with the
great temple. In certain points of design this monument
resembles the contemporary speos of Bayt-el-Welly. It is
evident, for instance, that the outer halls of both were
originally vaulted ; and the much mutilated sculptures
over the doorway of the excavated chamber at Abou Simbel
are almost identical in subject and treatment with those
over the entrance to the excavated parts of Bayt-el-Welly.
As regards general conception, the Abou Simbel monu-
ment comes under the same head with the contemporary
Temples of Derr, Gerf Hossayn, and YVady Sabooah; being
in a mixed style which combines excavation with construc-
tion. This style seems to have been peculiarly in favor
during the reign of Rameses II.

Situated at the southeastern angle of the rock, a little way
beyond the facade of the great temple, this rock-cut adytum
and hall of entrance face southeast by east, and com-
mand much the same view that is commanded higher up
by the Temple of Hathor. The adytum, or excavated
speos, measures twenty-one feet two and one-half inches in
breadth by fourteen feet eight inches in length. The
height from floor to ceiling is about twelve feet. The
doorway measures four feet three and one-half inches in
width; and the outer recess for the door-frame, five feet.
Two large circle holes, one in the threshold and the other
in the lintel, mark the place of the pivot on which the
door once swung.

It is not very easy to measure the outer hall in its pres-
ent ruined and encumbered state; but as nearly as we could
judge, its dimensions are as follows: Length, twenty-five
feet; width, twenty-two and one-half feet: width of prin-
cipal entrance facing the Xile, six feet: width of two side
entrances, four feet and six feet respectively; thickness of
crude-brick walls, three feet. Engaged in the brickwork
on either side of the principal entrance to this hall are two
stone door-jambs; and some six or eight feet in front of
these there originally stood two stone hawks on hiero-
glyphed pedestals. One of these hawks we found insitu,
the other lay some little distance off. and the painter (sus-
pecting nothing of these after-revelations) had used it as a

DISCO VKRIKS AT ABO if SIMBKL.

307

post to which to tie one of the main ropes of his sketching-
tent. A large hieroglyphed slab, which I take to have

Scale fi of an Inch-to a Foot.

1. Wall of pylon.

I' !Kd llunlwly and passage leading to vaulted ball.

4. Walls of outer hall or pronaos.

5. Door-jambs.

6. Stone hawks on pedestals.

a Arched entrances in north wall of pronaos.

formed part of the door, lay overturned against the sid(
of the pylon some few yards nearer the river.

308

A THOUSAND MILES UP THE WILE.

As far us the adytum and outer hall are concerned, the
accompanying ground-plan — which is in part founded on
my own measurements, and in part borrowed from the
ground-plan drawn out by the painter — may be accepted
as tolerably correct. But with regard to the pylon, I can
only say with certainty that the central staircase is three
feet in width, and that the walls on each side of it are
seven feet in thickness. So buried is it in debris and
sand, that even to indicate where the building ends and
the rubbish begins at the end next the Nile, is impossible.
This part is, therefore, left indefinite in the ground-plan.

So far as we could see, there was no stone revetement
upon the inner side of the walls of the pronaos. If any-

PATTERN OF COKNICE.

thing of the kind ever existed, some remains of it would
probably be found by thoroughly clearing the area; an in-
teresting enterprise for any who may have leisure to
undertake it.

I have now to speak of the decorations of the adytum,
the walls of which, from immediately under the ceiling to
within three feet of the floor, are covered with religious
subjects elaborately sculptured in bas-relief, coated as
usual with a thin film of stucco and colored with a rich-
ness for which I know no parallel, except in the tomb of
Seti I * at Thebes. Above the level of the drifted sand
this color was as brilliant in tone and as fresh in surface as
on the day when it was transferred to those walls from the
palette of the painter. All below that level, however, was
dimmed and deranged.

The ceiling is surrounded by a frieze of cartouches sup-
ported by sacred asps; each cartouche, with its supporters,

* Commonly known as Belzoni's tomb.

DI8C0VFAITKS AT ABOU 8IMBKL.

3C9

being divided from the next by a small sitting figure.
These figures, in other respects uniform, wear the symbolic
heads of various gods — the cow-head of Hathor, the ibis-
head of Thoth, the hawk-head of llorus, the jackal-head
of Annbis, etc. The cartouches contain the ordinary
style and title of Raineses II (Ra-user-ma Sotep-en-Ra
Rameses Mer-Amen), and are surmounted by a row of sun-
disks. Under each sitting god is depicted the phonetic
hieroglyph signifying Mer, or beloved. By means of this
device, the whole frieze assumes the
character of a connected legend and
describes the king not only as beloved
of Amen, but as Rameses beloved of
Hathor, of Thoth, of Horns — in short,
of each god depicted in the series.

These gods excepted, the frieze is
almost identical in design with the
frieze in the first hall of the great
temple.

WEST WALL.*

The west, or principal wall, facing
the entrance, is divided into two large
subjects, each containing two figures the
size of life. In the division to the right,
Rameses II worships Ra; in the division
to the left, he worships Amen-Ra; thus
following the order observed in the other
two temples, where the subjects relating
to Amen-Ra occupy the left half and the subjects relating
to Ra occupy the right half of each structure. An upright
ensign surmounted by an exquisitely drawn and colored
head of Horns Aroeris separates these two subjects. f In

STANDARD OP HORUS
AROERIS.

* I write of these walls, for convenience, as nortli, south, east and
west, as onefis so accustomed to regard the position of buildings paral-
lel with the river; but the present monument, as it is turned slightly
southward round the angle of the rock, really stands southeast by
east, instead of east and west like the large temple.

\ Horus Aroeris. — " Celui-ci, qui semble avoir ete frere d'Osiris,
porte une tete d'epervier coiffee du pschent. II est presque complete-
ment identifie avec le soleil dans la plupart des lieux ou il etait
adore, et il en est de nieme tres souvent pour Horus, fils d'Isis." —

310 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

the subject to the right, Eaineses, wearing the red and
white pschent, presents an offering of two small aryballos
vases without handles. The vases are painted blue and
are probably intended to represent lapis lazuli; a substance
much prized by the ancient Egyptians and known to them
by the name of khesbet. The king's necklace, armlets and
bracelets are also blue. Ra sits enthroned, holding in one
hand the "ankh," or crux ansata, emblem of life, r\ and in
the other the greyhound-headed* scepter of the •*■ gods.
He is hawk-headed and crowned with the sun- ^ disk
and asp. His flesh is painted bright Venetian red. He wears
a pectoral ornament; a rich necklace of alternate vermilion
and black drops; and a golden-yellow belt studded with
red and black stones. The throne, which stands on a blue
platform, is painted in stripes of red, blue and white. The
platform is decorated with a row of gold-colored stars and
" ankh" emblems picked out with red. At the foot of
this platform, between the god and the king, stands a
small altar, on which are placed the usual blue lotus with
red stalk and a spouted libation vessel.

To the left of the Horus ensign, seated back to back
with Ra upon a similar throne, sits Amen-Ra — of all Egyp-
tian gods the most terrible to look upon — with his blue-
black complexion, his corselet of golden chain-armor,
and his head-dress of towering plumes. f Here the won-

" Notice Sommaire des Monuments du Louvre," 1873. De Rouge.
In the present instance, this god seems to have been identified with
Ea.

* " Le sceptre a tSte de levier, nomine a tort sceptre a tete de con-
coupha, etait porte par les dieux." — "Die. d'Arch. Egyptienne: P.
Pierret; Paris, 1875.

f Amen of the blue complexion is the most ancient type of this
god. Here he represents divine royalty, in which character his
title is: " Lord of the Heaven, of the earth, of the waters and of
the mountains." " Dans ce role de roi du monde, Amon a les chairs
peintes en bleu pour indiquer sa nature celeste; et lorsqu'il porte le
titre de Seigneur des Trones, il est^ represente assis, la couronne en
tete: d'ordinaire il est debout." — "Etude des Monuments de Karnak."
De Rouge. "Melanges d'Archeologie," vol. i, 1873.

There were almost as many varieties of Amen in Egypt as there
are varieties of the Madonna in Italy or Spain. There was an Amen
of Thebes, an Amen of Elephantine, an Amen of Coptos, an Amen of
Chemmis (Panopolis), an Amen of the Resurrection, Amen of the
Dew, Amen of the Sun (Amen-Ra), Amen Self-created, etc.
Amen and Khem were doubtless identical. It is an interesting fact

DISCOVEBIES AT ABOU SIMBEL.

311

derful preservation of the surface enabled one to see by
what means the ancient artists were wont to produce this
singular blue-black effect of color. It was evident that the
flesh of the god had first been laid in with dead black, and
then colored over with a
dry, powdery cobalt-blue,
through which the black
remained partially visible.
He carries in one hand the
ankh,and in the other the
greyhound-headed scepter.
To him advances the king,
his right hand uplifted,
and in his left a small bas-
ket containing a votive
statuette of Ma, the god-
dess of truth and justice.
Ma is, however, shorn of
her distinctive feather, and
holds the jackal-headed
staff instead of the custo-
mary crux ansata.

As portraiture, there is
not much to be said for
any of these heads of
Barneses II ; but the feat
tures bear a certain resem-
blance to the well-known
profile of the king ; the
action of the figure is
graceful and animated ;
and the drawing displays
in all its purity the firm
and flowing line of Egyp-
tian draughtsmanship.

The dress of the king is
very rich in color ; the mitershaped casque being of a

that our English words, chemical, chemist, chemistry, etc., which
the dictionaries derive from the Arabic al-kimia, may be traced back
a step farther to the Panopolitan name of this most ancient god of
the Egyptians, Khem (Gr. Pan; Latin, Priapus), the deity of plants
and herbs and of the creative principle. A cultivated Egyptian would,
doubtless, have regarded all these Aniens as merely local or symboli-
cal types of a single deity.

KAMESES II OF kPEOS.

312 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

vivid cobalt-blue* picked out with gold color ; the belt,
necklace, armlets, and bracelets, of gold, studded apparently
with precious stones ; the apron, green and gold. Over
the king's head hovers the sacred vulture, emblem of
Maut, holding in her claws a kind of scutcheon upon
which is depicted the crux ansata.

SOUTH WALL.

The subjects represented on this wall are as follows:
1. Rameses, life-size, presiding over a table of offerings.
The king wears upon his head the Tclaft, or head-cloth,
striped gold and white and decorated with the urseus. The
table is piled in the usual way with flesh, fowl and flowers.
The surface being here quite perfect, the details of these
objects are seen to bq rendered with surprising minuteness.
Even the tiny black feather-stumps of the plucked geese
are given with the fidelity of Chinese art; while a red gash
in the breast of each shows in what way it was slain for
the sacrifice. The loaves are shaped precisely like the so-
called " cottage loaves" of to-day and have the same little
depression in the top, made by the baker's finger. Lotus

* The material of this blue helmet, so frequently depicted on the
monument?, may have been the Homeric Kuanos, about which so
much doubt and conjecture have gathered, and which Mr. Gladstone
supposes to have been a metal. (See " Juventus Mundi," chap, xv,
p. 532.) A paragraph in The Academy (June 8, 1876) gives the fol-
lowing particulars of certain perforated lamps of a " blue metallic
substance," discovered at Hissarlik by Dr. Schliemann, and there
found lying under the copper shields to which they had probably
been attached. "An analytical examination by Landerer (Berg.,
Euttenm. Zeitung, xxxix, 430) has shown them to be sulphide of
copper. The art of coloring the metal was known to the copper-
smiths of Corinth, who plunged the heated copper into the fountain
of Peirene. It appears not impossible that this was a sulphur spring,
and that the blue color may have been given to the metal by plung-
ing it in a heated state into the water and converting the surface into
copper sulphide."

It is to be observed that the Pharaohs are almost always repre-
sented wearing this blue helmet in the battle-pieces and that it is
frequently studded with gold rings. It must, therefore, have been
of metal. If not of sulphureted copper, it may have been
made of steel, which, in the well known instance of the butcher's
sharpener, as well as in representations of certain weapons, is always
painted blue upon the monuments.

DISCOVERIES AT ADOU SIMBEL.

313

and papyrus blossoms in elaborate bouquet-holders crown
the pile.

2. Two tripods of light and elegant design, containing
flowers.

3. The bari, or sacred boat, painted gold-color, with the
usual veil half-drawn across the naos, or shrine; the prow
of the boat being richly carved, decorated with the uta*
or symbolic eye and preceded by a large fan of ostrich
feathers. The boat is peopled with small black figures, one
of which kneels at the stern; while a sphinx couchant, with
black body and human head, keeps watch at the prow.
The sphinx symbolizes the king.

On this wall, in a space between the sacred boat and the
figure of Rameses occurs the- following inscription, sculpt-
ured in high relief and elaborately colored:

Note.— This inscription reads according to the
numbering of the columns, beginning at 1 and
reading to the right; then resuming at 7 and read-
ing to the left. The spaces lettered A B in the
lowest figure of column 5 are filled in with the two
cartouches of Rameses II.

m

^

_ o

v_y

* "This eye, called uta, was extensively used by the Egyptians
both as an ornament and amulet during life, and as a sepulchral

314 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

TRANSLATION.*

Said by Thoth, the Lord of Sesennu, f [residing | in
Amenheri:J " I give to thee an everlasting sovereignty over
the two countries, 0 son of [my] body, beloved, Ra-user-
nia Sotep-en-Ra, acting as propitiator of thy Ka. I give
to tbee myriads of festivals of Raineses, beloved of Amen,
Ra-user-m a Sotep-en-Ra, as prince of every place where the
sun-disk revolves. The beautiful living god, maker of
beautiful things for [his] father Thoth, Lord of Sesennu
[residing] in Amenheri. He made mighty and beautiful
monuments forever facing the eastern horizon of heaven."

The meaning of which is that Thoth, addressing
Rameses II, then living and reigning, promises him a long
life and many anniversaries of his jubilee, § in return for
the works made in his (Thoth's) honor at Abou Simbel
and elsewhere.

NORTH WALL.

At the upper end of this wall is depicted a life-size
female figure wearing an elaborate blue head-dress sur-
mounted by a disk and two ostrich feathers. She holds in
her right hand the ankh, and in her left the jackal-headed
scepter. This not being the scepter of a goddess and the
head-dress resembling that of the queen as represented on
the facade of the Temple of Hathor, I conclude we have

amulet. They are found in the form of right eyes and left eyes, and
they symbolize the eyes of Horus, as he looks to the north and
south horizons in his passage from east to west, i. e., from sunrise to
sunset."

M. Grebaut, in his translation of a hymn to Amen-Ra, observes:
" Le soleil man-hunt d'Orient en Occident eclaire de ses deux yeux
les deux regions du Nord et du Midi." — " Revue Arch.," vol. xxv,
1873; p. 387.

* This inscription was translated for the first edition of this book
by the late Dr. Birch; for the present translation I am indebted to
the courtesy of E. A. Wallis Budge, Esq.

f Sesennu — Eshmoon or Hermopolis.

% Amenheri — Gebel Addeh.

§ These jubilees, or festivals of thirty years, were religious jubilees
in celebration of each thirtieth anniversary of the accession of the
reigning Pharaoh.

DISCO VEEIES A T ABO U SIMBEL. 3 1 5

here a portrait of Nefertari corresponding to the portrait
of Rameses on the opposite wall. Near her stands a table
of offerings, on which, among other objects, are placed
four vases of a rich blue color traversed by bands of yellow.
They perhaps represent the kind of glass known as the
false murrhine.* Each of these vases contains an object
like a pine, the ground-color of which is deep yellow, pat-
terned over with scale-like subdivisions in vermilion. We
took them to represent grains of maize pyramidially piled.

Lastly, a pendant to that on the opposite wall, comes
the sacred bari. It is, however, turned the reverse way,
with its prow toward the east; and it rests upon an altar,
in the center of which are the cartouches of Rameses II
and a small hieroglyphic inscription signifying: '*' Beloved,
by Amen-Ra, king of the gods, resident in the land of
Kenus."f

Beyond this point, at the end nearest the northeast
corner of the chamber, the piled sand conceals whatever
else the wall may contain in the way of decoration.

EAST WALL.

If the east wall is decorated like the others (which may
be taken for granted), its tableaux and inscriptions are
hidden behind the sand which here rises to the ceiling.
The doorway also occurs in this wall, occupying a space
four feet three and one-half inches in width on the inner
side.

One of the most interesting incidents connected with the
excavation of this little adytum remains yet to be told.

I have described the female figure at the upper end of
the north wall and how she holds in her right hand the
ankh and in her left hand the jackal-headed scepter. The
hand that holds the ankh hangs by her side; the hand that
holds the scepter is half-raised. Close under this upraised
hand, at a height of between three and four feet from the
actual level of the floor, there were visible upon the un-

* There are, in the British Museum, some bottles and vases of this
description, dating from the eighteenth dynasty; see Case E,
Second Egyptian Room. They are of dark-blue translucent glass,
veined with waving lines of opaque white and yellow.

f Kenus — Nubia.

316 A THOUSAND MILES UP TEE NILE.

colored surface of the original stucco several lines of free-
hand writing. This writing was laid on, apparently, with
the brush, and the ink, if ever it had been black, had now
become brown. Five long lines and three shorter lines were
uninjured. Below these were traces of other fragmentary
lines, almost obliterated by the sand.

We knew at once that this quaint faint writing must be
in either the hieratic or demotic hand. We could dis-
tinguish, or thought we could distinguish, in its vague out-
lines of forms already familiar to us in the hieroglyphs —
abstracts, as it were, of birds and snakes and boats. There
could be no doubt, at all events, that the thing was curious;
and we set it down in our own minds as the writing of either
the architect or decorator of the place.

Anxious to make, if possible, an exact fac-simile of this
inscription, the writer copied it three times. The last and
best of these copies is here reproduced in photolithography,
with a translation from the pen of the late Dr. Birch. (See
p. 317.) We all know how difficult it is to copy correctly in
a language of which one is ignorant; and the tiniest curve or
dot omitted is fatal to the sense of these ancient characters.
In the present instance, notwithstanding the care with
which the transcript was made, there must still have been
errors; for it has been found undecipherable in places;
and in these places there occur inevitable lacunae.

Enough, however, remains to show that the lines were
written, not as we had supposed by the artist, but by a
distinguished visitor, whose name unfortunately is illegible.
This visitor was a son of the Prince of Kush, or as it is
literally written, the Royal Son of Kush; that being the
official title of the Govornor of Ethiopia.* As there were
certainly eight governors of Ethiopia during the reign of
Barneses II (and perhaps more, whose names have not
reached us), it is impossible even to hazard a guess at the

* Governors of Ethiopia bore this title, even though they did not
themselves belong to the family of Pharaoh.

It is a curious fact that one of the governors of Ethiopia during
the reign of Eameses II was called Mes, or Messou, signifying son,
or child — which is in fact Mosi s. Now the Moses of the Bible was
adopted by Pharaoh's daughter, " became to her as a son," was in-
structed in the wisdom of the Egyptians, and married a Ku shite
woman, black but comely. It would perhaps be too much to specu-
late on the possibility of his having held the office of Governor, or
Roval Son of Kush.

DISCO VERIES A T ABO V SIMBEL. 31?

parentage of our visitor. We gather, however, that he
was sent hither to construct a road; also that he built
transport boats; and that he exercised priestly functions in
that part of the temple which was inaccessible to all but
dignitaries of the sacerdotal order.

HIERATIC INSCRIPTION,

NORTH WALL OF SPEOS.

Translated by 8. Birch, Esq., LL.D., etc.

thy son having . . . thou hast conquered the worlds
at' once Amnion Ra-Harmachis, \ the god at the first time,* who
gives life health, and a time of many praises to the groom
of the Khen,** son of the Royal son of Cush.ft Opener
of the road, Maker of transport boats, Giver of instructions to
his lord . . . Amenshaa . . .

ft e Ammon Ra, the sun god, in conjuction or identification with Har-
em-a x\\, of Horus-on-the-Horizon, another solar deity.
* The primaeval god.
** Inner place, or sanctuary,
tt Ethiopia.

318 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Site, inscriptions, and decorations taken into account,
there yet remains this question to be answered :

What was the nature and character of the monument
just described ?

It adjoined a pylon, and, as we have seen, consisted of a
vaulted pronaos in crude brick, and an adytum excavated
in the rock. On the walls of this adytum are depicted
various gods with their attributes, votive offerings, and
portraits of the king performing acts of adoration. The
bari, or ark, is also represented upon the north and south
walls of the adytum. These are unquestionably the ordi-
nary features of a temple, or chapel.

On the other hand, there must be noted certain objections
to these premises. It seemed to us that the pylon was
built first and that the south boundary wall of the pronaos,
being a subsequent erection, was supported against the
slope of the pylon as far as where the spring of the vault-
ing began. Besides which, the pylon would have been a
disproportionately large adjunct to a little monument, the
entire length of which, from the doorway of the pronaos to
the west wall of the adytum, was less than forty-seven feet.
We therefore concluded that the pylon belonged to the
large temple and was erected at the side instead of in front
of the facade, on account of the very narrow space between
the mountain and the river.*

The pylon at Kom Ombo is, probably for the same
reason, placed at the side of the temple and on a lower
level. To those who might object that a brick pylon
would hardly be attached to a temple of the first class, I
would observe that the remains of a similar pylon are still
to be seen at the top of what was once the landing-place
leading to the great temple at Wady Ilalfeh. It may,
therefore, be assumed that this little monument, although
connected with the pylon by means of a doorway and stair-
case, was an excrescence of later date.

Being an excrescence, however, was it, in the strict sense
of the word, a temple?

Even this seems to be doubtful. In the adytum there is

* At about an equal distance to the north of the great temple, on
the verge of the bank, is a shapeless block of brick ruin, which
might possibly, if investigated, turn out to be the remains of a
second pylon corresponding to this which we partially uncovered to
the south.

DISCO VERIES AT ABO U SIMBEL. 319

no trace of any altar — no fragment of stone dais or sculpt-
ured image — no granite shrine, as at Philae — no sacred
recess, as at Denderah. The standard of Horns Aroeris,
engraved on page 311, occupies the center place upon the
wall facing the entrance, and occupies it, not as a tutelary
divinity, but as a decorative device to separate the two large
subjects already described. Again, the gods represented in
these subjects are Ra and Amen Ra, the tutelary gods of the
great temple; but if we turn to the dedicatory inscription on
page 313 we find that Thoth, whose image never occurs at all
upon the walls* (unless as one of the little gods in the cor-
nice), is really the presiding deity of the place. It is he who
welcomes Rameses and his offerings; who acknowledges the
"glory" given to him by his beloved son; and who, in
return for the great and good monuments erected in his
honor, promises the king that he shall be given "an ever-
lasting sovereignty over the two countries."

Now Thoth was, par excellence, the God of Letters. He
is styled the Lord of Divine Words ; the Lord of the
Sacred Writings; the Spouse of Truth. He personifies
the Divine Intelligence. He is the patron of art and
science; and he is credited with the invention of the
alphabet. In one of the most interesting of Champollion's
letters from Thebes, f he relates how, in the fragmentary
ruins of the western extremity of the Ramesseum, he found
a doorway adorned with the figures of Thoth and Safek ;
Thoth as the God of Literature, and Safek inscribed with
the title of Lady President of the Hall of Books. At
Denderah there is a chamber especially set apart for the
sacred writings, and its walls are sculptured all over with
a catalogue raisonnee of the manuscript treasures of the
temple. At Edfu, a kind of closet built up between two
of the pillars of the hall of assembly was reserved for the
same purpose. Every temple, in short, had its library;
and as the Egyptian books — being written on papyrus or
leather, rolled up, and stored in coffers — occupied but
little space, the rooms appropriated to this purpose were
generally small.

It was Dr. Birch's opinion that our little monument

* He may, however, be represented on the north wall, where it is
covered by the sand- heap.
\ Letter xiv, p. 235. " Nouvelle Ed.," Paris, 1868.

320 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

may have been the library of the Great Temple of Abort
Simbel. This being the case, the absence of an altar, and
the presence of Ra and Amen-Ra in the two principal
tableaux, are sufficiently accounted for. The tutelary
deity of the great temple and the patron deity of Rameses
II would naturally occupy, in this subsidiary structure, the
same places that they occupy in the principal one ; while
the library, though in one sense the domain of Thoth, is
still under the protection of the gods of the temple to
which it is an adjunct.

I do not believe we once asked ourselves how it came to
pass that the place had remained hidden all these ages
long; yet its very freshness proved how early it must have
been abandoned. If it had been open in the time of the
successors of Rameses II, they would probably, as else-
where, have interpolated inscriptions and cartouches, or
have substituted their own cartouches for those of the
founder. If it had been open in the time of the Ptolemies
and Caesars, traveling Greeks and learned Romans and
strangers from Byzantium and the cities of Asia Minor
would have cut their names on the door-jambs and scrib-
bled ex-votos on the walls. If it had been open in the
days of Nubian Christianity, the sculptures would have
been coated with mud and washed with lime and daubed
with pious caricatures of St. George and the holy family.
But we found it intact — as perfectly preserved as a tomb
that had lain hidden under the rocky bed of the desert.
For these reasons I am inclined to think that it became
inaccessible shortly after it was completed. There can be
little doubt that a wave of earthquake passed, during the
reign of Rameses II, along the left bank of the Nile, be-
ginning possibly above Wady Halfeh, and extending at
least as far north as Gerf Ilossayn. Such a shock might
have wrecked the temple at Wady Halfeh, as it dislocated
the pylon of Wady Sabooah. and shook the built-out porti-
coes of Derr and Gerf Ilossayn ; which last four temples,
as they do not, I believe, show signs of having been added
to by later Pharaohs, may be supposed to have been
abandoned in consequence of the ruin which had befallen
them. Here, at all events, it shook the mountain of the
great temple, cracked one of the Osiride columns of the
first hall,* shattered one of the four great colossi, more or

* That this shock of earthquake occurred during the lifetime of

DISCO VERIEti A T ABO U SIMBEL. 321

less injured the other three, flung down the great brick
pylon, reduced the pronaosof the library to a heap of ruin,
and not only brought down part of the ceiling of the exca-
vated adytum, but rent open a vertical fissure in the rock
some twenty or twenty-five feet in length.

With so much irreparable damage done to the great
temple, and with so much that was reparable calling for
immediate attention, it is no wonder that these brick
buildings were left to their fate. The priests would have
rescued the sacred books from among the ruins, and then
the place would have been abandoned.

So much by way of conjecture. As hypothesis, a suf-
ficient reason is perhaps suggested for the wonderful state
of preservation in which the little chamber had been
handed down to the present time. A rational explana-
tion is also offered for the absence of later cartouches, of
Greek and Latin ex-votos, of Christian emblems, and of
subsequent mutilation of every kind. For, save that one
contemporary visitor — the sou of the Royal Son of Kush —
the place contained, when we opened it, no record of any
passing traveler, no defacing autograph of tourist, archae-
ologist, or scientific explorer. Neither Belzoni nor Cham-
pollion had found it out. E\en Lepsius had passed it by.

It happens sometimes that hidden things, which in them-
selves are easy to find, escape detection because no one
thinks of looking for them. But such was not the case in
this present instance. Search had been made here again
and again; and even quite recently.

Rameses II seems to be proved by the fact that, where the Osiride
column is cracked across, a wall has been built up to support the
two last pillars to the left at the upper end of the great hall, on
which wall is a large stela covered with an elaborate hieroglyphic
inscription, dating from the thirty-fifth year, and the thirteenth day
of the month of Tybi, of the reign of Rameses II. The right arm
of the external colossus, to the right of the great doorway, has also
been supported by the introduction of an arm to his throne, built up
of square blocks; this being the only arm to any of the thrones. Miss
Martineau detected a restoration of part of the lower jaw of the
northernmost colossus, and also a part of the dress of one of the
Osiride statues in the great hall. 1 have in my possession a photo-
graph taken at a time when the sand was several feet lower than at
present, which shows that the right leg of the northernmost colossus
is also a restoration on a gigantic scale, being built up, like the
throne-arm, in great blocks, and finished, most probably, afterward.

322 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

It seems that when the khedive* entertains distinguished
guests and sends them in gorgeous dahabeeyahs up the
Nile, he grants them a virgin mound, or so many square
feet of a famous necropolis ; lets them dig as deep as they
please; and allows them to keep whatever they may find.
Sometimes he sends out scouts to beat the ground ; and
then a tomb is found and left unopened, and the illustrious
visitor is allowed to discover it. When the scouts are un-
lucky, it may even sometimes happen that an old tomb is
re-stocked ; carefully closed up ; and then, with all the
charm of unpremeditation, re-opened a day or two after.

Now Sheik Kashwan Ebn Hassan el Kashef told us that
in 1869, when the empress of the French was at Abou
Simbel, and again when the Prince and Princess of Wales
came up in 1872, after the prince's illness, he received
strict orders to find some hitherto undiscovered tomb, f in
order that the khedive's guests might have the satisfaction
of opening it. But, he added, although he left no likely
place untried among the rocks and valleys on both sides of
the river, he could find nothing. To have unearthed such
a birbeh as this would have done him good service with
the government, and have insured him a splendid back-
shish from prince or empress. As it was, he was repri-
manded for want of diligence, and he believed himself to
have been out of favor ever since.

I may here mention — in order to have done with this
subject — that besides being buried outside to a depth of
about eight feet, the adytum had been partially filled inside
by a gradual infiltration of sand from above. This can
only have accumulated at the time when the old sand-drift
was at its highest. That drift, sweeping in one unbroken
line across the front of the great temple, must at one time
have risen here to a height of twenty feet above the pres-
ent level. From thence the sand had found its way down
the perpendicular fissure already mentioned. In the cor-
ner behind the door, the sand-pile rose to the ceiling, in
shape just like the deposit at the bottom of an hour-glass.
I am informed by the painter that when the top of the

* This refers to the ex-khedive, Ismail Pasha, who ruled Egypt
at the time when this book was written and published. [Note to
second edition.]

f There are tombs in some of the ravines behind the temples,
which, however, we did not see,

DISCO VERIES A T ABO U 8IMBEL. 323

doorway was found and an opening first effected, the sand
poured out from within, like water escaping from an
opened sluice.

Here, then, is positive proof (if proof were needed) that
we were first to enter the place, at all events since the
time when the great sand-drift rose as high as the top of
the fissure.

The painter wrote his name and ours, with the date
(February 10, 1874), on a space of blank wall over the in-
side of the doorway; and this was the only occasion upon
which any of us left our names upon an Egyptian monu-
ment. On arriving at Korosko, where there is a post-
office, he also dispatched a letter to the " Times," briefly
recording the facts here related. That letter, which
appeared on the 18th of March following, is reprinted
in the appendix at the end of this book.

I am told that our names are partially effaced and that
the wall-paintings which we had the happiness of admiring
in all their beauty and freshness are already much injured.
Such is the fate of every Egyptian monument, great or
small. The tourist carves it all over with names and
dates and in some instances with caricatures. The student
of Egyptology, by taking wet-paper "squeezes," sponges
away every vestige of tiie original color. The "collector"
buys and carries off everything of value that he can get;
and the Arab steals for him. The work of destruction,
meanwhile, goes on apace. There is no one to prevent it;
there is no one to discourage it. Every day, more inscrip-
tions are mutilated — more tombs are rifled — more paintings
and sculptures are defaced. The Louvre contains a full-
length portrait of Seti I, cut out bodily from the walls of
his sepulcher in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. The
museums of Berlin, of Turin, of Florence, are ' rich in
spoils which tell their own lamentable tale. When science
leads the way, is it wonderful that ignorance should follow?

3U A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

CHAPTER XIX.

BACK THROUGH NUBIA.

There are fourteen temples between Abou Simbel and
Philse; to say nothing of grottoes, tombs and other ruins.
As a rule, people begin to get tired of temples about this
time and vote them too plentiful. Meek travelers go
through them as a duty; but the greater number rebel.
Our happy couple, I grieve to say, went over to the major-
ity. Dead to shame, they openly proclaimed themselves
bored. They even skipped several temples.

For myself, I was never bored by them. Though they
had been twice as many, I should not have wished them
fewer. Miss Martineau tells how, in this part of the
river, she was scarcely satisfied to sit down to breakfast
■without having first explored a temple; but I could have
breakfasted, dined, supped on temples. My appetite for
them was insatiable and grew with what it fed upon. I
went over them all. I took notes of them all. I sketched
them every one.

I may as well say at once that I shall reproduce but few
of those notes and only some of those sketches in the
present volume. If, surrounded by their local associations,
these ruins fail to interest many who travel far to see them,
it is not to be supposed that they would interest readers at
home. Here and there, perhaps, might be one who would
care to pore with me over every broken sculpture; to spell
out every half-legible cartouche; to trace through Greek
and Roman influences (which are nowhere more conspicuous
than in these Nubian buildings) the slow deterioration of the
Egyptian style. But the world for the most part reserves
itself, and rightly, for the great epochs and the great names
of the past; and because it has not yet had too much of
Karnak, of Abou Simbel, of the pyramids, it sets slight
store by those minor monuments which record the periods
of foreign rule and the decline of native art. For these

DISCO VERIES A T ABO U SIMBEL. 325

reasons, therefore, I propose to dismiss very briefly many
places upon which I bestowed hours of delightful labor.

We left Abou Simbel just as the moon was rising on
the evening of the 18th of February, and dropped
down with the current for three or four miles before moor-
ing for the night. At six next morning the men began
rowing; and at half-past eight the heads of the colossi
were still looking placidly after us across a ridge of inter-
vening hills. They were then more than five miles distant
in a direct line; but every feature was still distinct in the
early daylight. One went up again and again, as long as
they remained in sight, and bade good-by to them at last
with that same heartache which comes of a farewell view of
the Alps.

When I say that we were seventeen days getting from
Abou Simbel to Philae, and that we had the wind against
us from sunrise till sunset almost every day, it will be seen
that our progress was of the slowest. To those who were
tired of temples, and to the crew who were running short
of bread, these long days of lying up under the bank, or of
rocking to and fro in the middle of the river, were dreary
enough.

Slowly but surely, however, the hard-won miles go by.
Sometimes the barren desert hems us in to right and left,
with never a blade of green between the rock and the river.
Sometimes, as at Tosko,* we come upon an open tract,
where there are palms and castor-berry plantations and
corn-fields alive with quail. The idle man goes ashore at
Tosko with his gun, while the little lady and the writer
climb a solitary rock about two hundred feet above the
river. The bank shelves here, and a crescent-like wave of
inundation, about three miles in length, overflows it every
season. From this height one sees exactly how far the
wave goes, and how it must make a little bay when it is
there. Now it is a bay of barley, full to the brim, and
rippling to the breeze. Beyond the green comes the desert;
the one defined against the other as sharply as water against
land. The desert looks wonderfully old beside the young
green of the corn, and the Nile flows wide among sand-
banks, like a tidal river near the sea. The village, squared

* Tosko is on the eastern bank, and not, as in Keith Johnston's
map, on the west,

326 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

off in parallelograms like a cattle market, lies mapped out
below. A field-glass shows that the houses are simply
cloistered court-yards roofed with palm-thatch; the sheik's
house being larger than the rest, with the usual open space
and spreading sycamore in front. There are women mov-
ing to and fro in the court-yards, and husbandmen in the
castor-berry patches. A funeral with a train of wailers
goes out presently toward the burial-ground on the edge
of the desert. The idle man, a slight figure with a veil
twisted round his hat, wades, half-hidden, through the
barley, signaling his whereabouts every now and then by a
puff of white smoke. A cargo-boat, stripped and shorn,
comes floating down the river, making no visible progress.
A native felucca, carrying one tattered brown sail, goes
swiftly up with the wind at a pace that will bring her to
Abou Simbel before nightfall. Already she is past the
village; and those black specks yonder, which we had
never dreamed were crocodiles, have slipped off into the
water at her approach. And now she is far in the dis-
tance— that glowing, illimitable distance — traversed by long
silvery reaches of river, and ending in a vast flat, so blue
and aerial that, but for some three or four notches of purple
peaks on the horizon, one could scarcely discern the point
at which land and sky melt into each other. Ibrim comes
next; then Derr; then Wady Sabooyah. At Ibrim, as at
Derr, there ars "fair " families, whose hideous light hair
and blue eyes (grafted on brown-black skins) date back to
Bosnian forefathers of three hundred and sixty years ago.
These people give themselves airs, and are the haute
noblesse of the place. The men are lazy and quarrelsome.
The women trail longer robes, wear more beads and rings,
and are altogether more unattractive and castor-oily than
any we have seen elsewhere. They keep slaves, too. We
saw these unfortunates trotting at the heels of their mis-
tresses, like dogs. Knowing slavery to be officially
illegal in the dominions of the khedive, the M. B.'s
applied to a dealer, who offered them an Abyssinian girl
for ten pounds. This useful article — warranted a bargain
— was to sweep, wash, milk, and churn; but was not equal
to cooking. The M. B.'s, it is needless to add, having
verified the facts, retired from the transaction.

At Derr we pay a farewell visit to the temple ; and at
Amada, arriving toward close of day, see the great view
for the last time in the glory of sunset.

DISCO VERIES AT ABO U SI MB EL. 327

And now, though the north wind blows persistently, it
gets hotter every day. The crocodiles like it, and come
out to bask in the sunshine. Called up one morning in
the middle of breakfast we see two — a little one and a big
one — on a sand-bank near by. The men rest upon their
oars. The boat goes with the stream. No one speaks; no
one moves. Breathlessly and in dead silence, we drift on
till we are close beside them. The big one is rough and
black, like the trunk of a London elm, and measures full
eighteen feet in length. The little one is pale and green-
ish and glistens like glass. All at once the old one starts,
doubles itself up for a spring, and disappears with a tre-
mendous splash. But the little one, apparently uncon-
scious of danger, lifts its tortoise-like head and eyes us
sidewise. Presently some one whispers ; and that whisper
breaks the spell. Our little crocodile flings up its tail,
plunges down the bank, and is gone in a moment.

The crew could not understand how the idle man, after
lying in wait for crocodiles at Abou Simbel, should let this
rare chance pass without a shot. But we had heard since
then of so much indiscriminate slaughter at the second
cataract, that he was resolved to bear no part in the exter-
mination of those old historic reptiles. That a sportsman
should wish for a single trophy is not unreasonable; but
that scores of crack shots should go up every winter kill-
ing and wounding these wretched brutes at an average rate
of from twelve to eighteen per gun, is mere butchery and
cannot be too strongly reprehended. Year by year, the
creatures become shyer and fewer ; and the day is prob-
ably not far distant when a crocodile will be as rarely
seen below Semneh as it is now rarely seen below
Assuan.

The thermometer stands at 85° in the saloon of the
Philre, when we come one afternoon to Wady Sabooah,
where there is a solitary temple drowned in sand. It
was approached once by an avenue of sphinxes and stand-
ing colossi, now shattered and buried. The roof of the
pronaos, if ever it was roofed, is gone. The inner halls
and the sanctuary — all excavated in the rock— are choked
and impassable. Only the propylon stands clear of sand;
and that, massive as it is, looks as if one touch of a bat-
tering-ram would bring it to the ground. Every huge
stone in it is loose. Every block in the cornice seems

328 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

tottering in its place. In all this we fancy we recognize
the work of our Abou Simbel earthquake.*

At Wady Sabooah we see a fat native. The fact claims
record, because it is so uncommon. A stalwart, middle-
aged man, dressed in a tattered kilt and carrying a palm-
staff in his hand, he stands before us the living double of
the famous wooden statue at Boulak. He is followed by
his two wives and three or four children, all bent upon
trade. The women have trinkets, the boys a live chame-
leon and a small stuffed crocodile for sale. AVhile the

painter is bargaining for the crocodile and L for a

nose-ring, the writer makes accquaintance with a pair of
self-important hoopoes, who live in the pylon and evidently
regard it as a big nest of their own building. They sit
observing me curiously while I sketch, nodding their
crested polls and chattering disparagingly, like a couple of
critics. By and by comes a small black bird with a white
breast and sings deliriously. It is like no little bird that
I have ever seen before ; but the song that it pours so lav-
ishly from its tiny throat is as sweet and brilliant as a ca-
nary's.

Powerless against the wind, the dahabeeyah lies idle day
after day in the sun. Sometimes, when we chance to be
near a village, the natives squat on the bank and stare at
us for hours together. The moment any one appears on
deck they burst into a chorus of " Backshish !" There is
but one way to get rid of them, and that is to sketch them.
The effect is instantaneous. With a good-sized block and
a pencil, a whole village may be put to flight at a moment's
notice. If, on the other hand, one wishes for a model, the
difficulty is insuperable. The painter tried in vain to get
some of the women and girls (not a few of whom were
really pretty) to sit for their portraits. I well remember

* This is one of the temples erected by Rameses the Great, and, I
believe, not added to by any of his successors. The colossi, the
Osiride columns, the sphinxes (now battered out of all human sem-
blance) were originally made in his image. The cartouches are all
his, and in one of the inner chambers there is a list of his little
family. All these chambers were accessible till three or four years
ago, when a party of German travelers carried off some sculptured
tablets of great archaeological interest; after which act of spoliation
the entrance was sanded up by ordrer of Mariette Bey. See, also,
with regard to the probable date of the earthquake at tfiis place,
chap, xviii, p. 321,

DISCO VER1ES AT ABO U STMBEL. 3 i 0

one haughty beauty, shaped and draped like a Juno, who stood
on the bank one morning, scornfully watching all that was
done on deck. She carried a flat basket back-handed; and
her arms were covered with bracelets and her fingers with
rings. Her little girl, in a Madame Nubia fringe, clung
to her skirts, half-wondering, half-frightened. The
painter sent out an ambassador plenipotentiary to offer her
anything from a sixpence to half a sovereign if she would
only stand like that for half an hour. The manner of her
refusal was grand. She drew her shawl over her face, took
her child's hand, and stalked away like an offended god-
dess. The writer, meanwhile, hidden behind a curtain,
had snatched a tiny sketch from the cabin-window.

On the western bank, somewhere between Wady Sabooah
and Maharrakeh, in a spot quite bare of vegetation, stand
the ruins of a fortified town which is neither mentioned
by Murray nor entered in the maps. It is built on a base of
reddish rock and commands the river and the desert. The
painter and writer, explored it one afternoon, in the course
of a long ramble. Climbing first a steep slope strewn with
masonry, we came to the remains of a stone gateway. Find-
ing this impassable, we made our way through a breach in the
battlemented wall, and thence up a narrow road down which
had been poured a cataract of debris. Skirting a ruined post-
ern at the top of this road, we found ourselves in a close laby-
rinth of vaulted arcades built of crude brick and lit at short
intervals by openings in the roof. These strange streets — for
they were streets — were lined on either side by small dwell-
ings built of crude brick on stone foundations. We went into
some of the houses — mere ruined courts and roofless cham-
bers, in which were no indications of hearths or staircases.
In one lay a fragment of stone column about fourteen inches
in diameter. The air in these ancient streets was foul and
stagnant and the ground was everywhere heaped with
fragments of black, red and yellowish pottery, like the
shards of Elephantine and Philae. A more desolate place
in a more desolate situation I never saw. It looked as if
it had been besieged, sacked and abandoned, a thousand
years ago ; which is probably under the mark, for the
charactor of the pottery would seem to point to the period
of Eoman occupation. Noting how the brick super-
structures were reared on apparently earlier masonry, we
concluded that the beginnings of this place were probably

330 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.

Egyptian and the later work Roman. The marvel was
that any town should have been built in so barren a spot,
there being not so much as an inch-wide border of lentils
for a mile or more between the river and the desert.

Having traversed the place from end to end, we came
out through another breach on the westward side, and,
thinking to find a sketchable point of view inland, struck
down toward the plain. In order to reach this, one first
must skirt a deep ravine which divides the rock of the
citadel from the desert. Following the brink of this
ravine to the point at which it falls into the level, we
found to our great surprise that we were treading the
banks of an extinct river.

It was full of sand now; but beyond all ojiestion it had
once been full of water. It came, evidently, from the
mountains over toward the northwest. We could trace
its windings for a long way across the plain, thence
through the ravine and on southward in a line parallel
with the Nile. Here, beneath our feet, were the water-
worn rocks through which it had fretted its way; and
yonder, half-buried in sand, were the bowlders it had
rounded and polished and borne along in its course. I
doubt, however, if when it was a river of water this
stream was half as beautiful as now, when it is a river of
sand. It was turbid then, no doubt, and charged with
sediment. Now it is more golden than Pactolus and
covered with ripples more playful and undulating than
were ever modeled by Canaletti's pencil.

Supposing yonder town to have been founded in the
days when the river was a river and the plain fertile and
well watered, the mystery of its position is explained. It
was protected in front by the Nile and in the rear by the
ravine and the river. But how long ago was this? Here,
apparently, was an independent stream, taking its rise
among the Libyan mountains. It dated back, conse-
quently, to a time when those barren hills collected and
distributed water — that is to say, to a time when it used to
rain in Nubia. And that time must have been before the
rocky barrier broke down at Silsilis, in the old days when
the land of Kush flowed with milk and honey.*

* Not only near this nameless town, but in many other parts
between Abou Siinbel and Philse, we found the old alluvial soil

DISCO VKR1 ES AT ABOV SIMB EL. 331

It would rain even now in Nubia if it could. That
same evening, when the sun was setting, we saw a fan-like
drift of dappled cloud miles high above our heads, m